Chapter Six
Ginny suddenly remembered that she had left the curtains of her four-poster bed hanging open when she saw the pile of freshly-laundered robes, ready for use for the week ahead, neatly folded on it.
Her robes had been Percy's; her mother just had them cut to fit her small frame. Nevertheless, they were inevitably showing indications of age. The cloth, which had been black some years ago, was now becoming gray. Even the embroidered Gryffindor crest on the left side of the chest had lost its bright red and gold hues. Ginny slid a hand on the topmost robe; she felt lint bump her fingers.
She found her scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch robe under her black school ones. Smiling slightly, she held it up to the afternoon sunlight streaming through her dormitory window. This robe was relatively new. The colors of the Gryffindor crest were still striking, and the fabric was smooth to touch.
Ginny looked out of her window. The Quidditch pitch was in full view from their dormitory. She could remember countless nights watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice from where she stood, hungrily wishing that she could join them. They looked like moving red dots from where she stood. Even so, she had studied the maneuvers and techniques of each player, and although she found the Chasers' task most interesting, her young eyes had wandered too much on the dot flying the highest.
The Gryffindor Seeker. Ginny let a chuckle escape her throat. Then, realizing that she was alone in her dormitory that Sunday afternoon, she stopped and contented herself by smiling happily.
She might have spent a hellish week after the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match if it were not for those evenings with Harry. Incredibly, her flying had improved. It was actually Harry who told her what to do.
"I think you're pressuring yourself too much."
Ginny, sitting beside him on the grass, had squinted up at him. "Huh?"
"Well," Harry said, stretching his legs in front of him, "you're always thinking of falling or something when you're up there. Maybe you should…get the feel of flying. I mean really enjoy it, like it's always been a good thing."
Ginny cocked her head. Here was another first. How was he able to read her mind?
"You remember what I taught in D.A., when we were doing Patronuses?" When Ginny did not reply, Harry went on, "It was Professor Lupin who told me to focus on the happiest thought I could muster. I…I guess it would work in this case, too."
Ginny stared at him. "Think of the happiest thoughts while flying?"
Harry began to grin. "I know it sounds like Peter Pan, but yeah. Forget about feeling afraid you'd fall, more than anything."
"Who's Peter Pan?"
"He's this kid who can fly on his own. He never grows up because he lives in Neverland, where nobody grows up. It's a Muggle fairy tale," Verdana"> he added hurriedly upon seeing Ginny's you've-gone-nuts stare.
"Oh. Peter Pan." Smiling, Ginny had looked away.
Ginny allowed herself another chuckle. After telling her about Peter Pan, Harry had urged her to give it another try. When she was in the air and slowly accelerating again, her thoughts wandered to the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match of the previous year, when she had literally caught the Snitch under Cho Chang's nose. The Gryffindors had gone wild, they had raised Ron on their shoulders…and suddenly, she was flying—really flying again—and there was no more headache, and Harry's grin towards her seemed to be the extension of her own.
"Gin?"
Ginny straightened up and whipped around. Jane Rochford was standing in the doorway, peering at her as if she was something funnily strange that had flown into the room.
"Hey," Ginny said, hastily gathering her school robes. After a week of giving her the cold shoulder, one of her roommates had finally decided to talk to her again—just when she was staring off into space, probably grinning to herself.
Jane watched her for a moment before speaking again. "You got a minute?"
"Sure." Ginny forced a smile, which she quickly hid by turning her back on Jane and going off to her closet.
Ginny heard Jane close the door and cross the room. She hung her robes in the closet, pretending to carefully straighten each one. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she was forced to face Jane, who had plopped down on her own bed.
"Well, speak up," Ginny said.
Jane looked at her so uneasily that Ginny almost smiled. It was so unlike Jane; Jane, who talked too loudly or cursed too much and yet felt no need to apologize to those who try to shush her.
"Well, it's…well, I guess you know what it is."
Ginny pretended to look as if she did not understand.
Jane's shoulders slumped. "Look. I'm sorry, Ginny."
Ginny set her face and kept her eyes on Jane.
"I guess I should have been more of a friend that I'm supposed to be to you, especially now when you need us most since everyone seems to be scared of you," Jane blabbed on, gesturing wildly. "I know we were unfair and…and we should have understood. Me particularly, I guess. I mean, we knew that you were…abducted way back in first year and…." Her voice trailed off. She seemed to have realized that she had talked too much.
Ginny fixed Jane a cold stare that made Jane seem to shrink before her very eyes. Did Jane actually think she would be forgiven so easily?
Ginny advanced a couple of steps towards her old friend. "Who told you you're not supposed to be scared of me?"
Jane blanched. Her eyes widened; she backed a bit on her bed. Ginny saw her bottom lip quiver. And suddenly, she could not help herself anymore.
She smiled impishly. "Gotcha."
A full two seconds passed before Jane blinked repeatedly at Ginny. Then her jaw dropped in amused outrage. "Oh, Ginny!"
Ginny snickered. "You should have seen your face."
"Dammit, Ginny! Did you know you can act?"
"You're just too easy, Jane." Ginny laughed aloud, and soon Jane joined her.
"Oh, God," Jane gasped, rubbing her eyes. "At least that's taken care of…the whole thing."
Ginny smiled. "Well, I must admit I was really disappointed in you three."
"We're really sorry, Gin," Jane said sincerely.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Ginny said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She sat down on her own bed. "But everyone was shocked. I mean…I guess I can't blame anyone for not being scared."
Ginny paused. Jane, watching her thoughtfully, looked expectant. She could not yet estimate how much Jane needed to hear. She knew that supplying all the raw information regarding Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets might render even tough Jane Rochford catatonic. A few vague hints won't hurt her, she considered. Besides, I owe her the truth.
"Malfoy was right," said Ginny grimly. "All you heard from him after the Quidditch match was true. Save for one thing," she added—but her next words came out in hitches, as though she were unsure of herself. "It…wasn't…my fault."
Ginny saw the smallest of frowns crease Jane's forehead.
"Actually," Ginny went on, letting out a nervous laugh, "it was just me being stupid. One thing led to another and then, you know…I ended up down there." Another nervous chuckle. "You-Know-Who doesn't live inside me, though."
Jane jumped slightly from where she sat. "I—I didn't say he did."
"Everybody seems to think so," Ginny said. Her voice sounded strangely high-pitched.
Jane seemed to study her intently. Now it was Ginny who felt like she was shrinking under her friend's gaze. Unable to stay in one place, Ginny got up, gathered the rest of her clothes on her bed and went back to her closet.
"How's your flying?" Jane suddenly asked.
Ginny looked back at her, surprised—then she realized that she was hanging her Quidditch robes. "Oh…it's getting better actually," she said. "Better than last week, at least. My head sort of gets tired after a while, but I'm working on it." It was then that she noticed that Jane was trying to suppress a smile. "What?"
"Thanks to someone we know?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Thanks to Harry, yeah. And Peter Pan."
"Who?"
"Oh, never mind."
"Hmm, getting cozy enough to share secrets, huh? I see your wishes are slowly coming true."
Ginny whirled around and put her hands on her hips. "Jane, he's just helping me."
"By giving you one-on-one lessons? Oh, the oddity of it."
"Whatever, Jane." Ginny closed her closet door. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm flying okay again, and I might get a good hand at goal-scoring come the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match next year."
"But it is odd, isn't it?" Jane insisted. "Knowing you, you wouldn't ask him or anyone for help, so that means he offered help, didn't he?" When Ginny didn't answer, she went on with a knowing grin, "I wonder why he did that."
Ginny pursed her lips in thought. After a while, she said aloud, "Maybe because he knows how I feel."
This was clearly not the answer Jane had expected. "Feel…about getting injured? Oh, I'm sure he knows a lot about that."
Ginny ignored the sarcasm. "About Quidditch, about playing for the team," she said tolerantly. "He said it himself—something about feeling frustrated when all you can do is watch."
Jane cocked an eyebrow at her. "And…because of that he's helping you?"
Now that Jane spelled it out for her, the notion did sound strange. "Well, he's my teammate, isn't he?" Ginny said, trying to reason out aloud. "Of course he'd want to help me out."
"Oh, sure," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows boys help girl teammates out by giving them one-on-one lessons because they know how they feel and not because they want to spend a bit of time with them. Ever heard of ulterior motives, Ginny?"
"Jane, I don't even want to think about it," said Ginny seriously. "Just the fact that he's helping me in my flying is enough."
"And you're okay with that?"
Ginny almost laughed aloud. "Sure I am! I'm over him. And you, of all people, are supposed to know that."
"No, I don't."
Again, Ginny ignored her. "Look, it doesn't matter. Not anymore. But…you know what?"
Ginny smiled as something suddenly occurred to her. It was something she had not intended to say aloud, much less tell Jane or any other person, but something inside her told her that saying it would make it graspable for her.
"Now that I'm over him and can look at him from an objective point of view, I can finally see him for the person he really is."
Jane looked at her, blinking in surprise. Then, as though catching on, she asked, "And who is the real Harry Potter?"
It was a rhetorical question—not because everyone knew who Harry Potter was, but because describing a person, Harry in particular, needed no words. Or maybe it was that words were not enough.
Ginny gazed at Jane, thinking.
"He's unpredictable, he's grumpy…he really cares for his friends…he's a great flier…he spaces out all the time…he has this weird habit of playing with the Snitch—"
"You know, Ginny," Jane interrupted, "if I learn that you've somehow fallen head over heels for Harry Potter again—"
"I'm giving you my broomstick," Ginny finished. "And that's a promise!"
Without waiting for an answer, Ginny sealed that promise with a pillow thrown at Jane's delighted face.
She swore she did not plan it; it was, she reasoned, an instantaneous effect of spending too much time with Harry—especially with him flying so much with her.
She would often catch herself with her mouth hanging open as Harry made flawless dives with his Firebolt. But then again, it was not something completely unexpected of her whenever she watched him fly. Nor was it something others wouldn't do. Harry always stole the scene in a Quidditch match.
And yet, Ginny mused, he didn't seem to know it. He was humble. Sometimes too much so.
Oh, Harry was not perfect—not when it came to his character, anyway—but a big head certainly was not one of his flaws. Even if he were above everyone else in the air, soaring the fastest, he always managed to keep his feet back on the ground. Ginny knew that flying for Harry was not merely a talent. It was something he knew he was good at, but it was not something to be proud about. It was, simply put, a part of his life. It came to him as naturally as breathing. And one does not have to flaunt the fact that he breathes.
Ginny had to admit that sometimes she felt what could have been the beginnings of envy towards Harry's flying. In spite of her love for flying, she knew she was never going to match Harry's talent. But seeing him, his eyes mad with nothing but pure desire to be out there on his Firebolt, obliterated all these thoughts.
She could only admire him.
And that, Ginny concluded mentally, was the simple root of it all.
Ginny's chin was propped on her palm and her elbow on the Gryffindor common room study table as these thoughts flew past her head. All evening she had tried to stop her eyes from drifting off to the armchairs in front of the fire, where Harry, Ron and Hermione were engaged in light conversation.
Finally, Ginny gave in. Quill in her free hand, she stared at Harry, pretending to be contemplating on her homework.
Jane, however, did not let this pass so easily. "Didn't know you were left-handed, Gin."
Ginny glanced at her quill, then at Jane, and sighed heavily.
For the past few days, Ginny had seen a slight improvement in the way her classmates treated her. Colin now smiled in gratitude whenever she handed him something in Charms; Cathy and Agnes were friendly towards her again and had even waited for her after their last Care of Magical Creatures class. She had vaguely wondered if Jane had something to do with it. In any case, she was grateful.
Ginny had just started twiddling her quill in her right hand when she saw a tawny owl carrying perhaps three or four letters pecking at the round window. A first year opened it to let the owl in. As everybody watched, the owl flew towards Ron.
"Hey, it's from Mum!" exclaimed Ron as if he needed everyone to hear. He looked up at Ginny. "She's got a letter for you as well—and for you too, Harry."
Harry looked surprised as he reached for his letter.
Ginny set her quill down and, composing herself, approached the trio. Harry glanced up from his letter and gave her a quick smile, but just as soon as it appeared, it was buried again as Harry continued reading his letter.
"Here," Ron said, handing her her letter.
Ginny began reading as she went back to the study table.
Ginny dear,
I hope you're well and haven't got the colds. I just wanted you to know that I'm expecting you, Ron, and if he would, Harry, to come home for Christmas.
Ginny frowned as she sat down. It was only a few days before December. Why was her mother worrying more than usual?
I had to let you know as soon as possible because things are not too well in you-know-what and Dad and I worry about you two more often. Owl back quickly.
Much love,
Mum
Ginny's frown deepened. She reread the letter.
Dad and I worry about you two more often.
She stole a glance at Harry's direction again. He looked delighted at the prospect of spending Christmas with the Weasleys. Ron seemed to share his excitement, too. Hermione simply looked at the two of them with an amused smile. Obviously Ginny was the only one who was sent a troubled letter.
Ginny looked at the owl perched on Ron's armchair. It was probably an owl of one of the members of the Order; Errol had sadly retired from long journeys the previous summer. She imagined her mother writing from 12 Grimmauld Place. What did she find out there?
Ginny took a spare piece of parchment and began writing.
Mum,
I'm definitely coming home for Christmas. Won't you tell me what's wrong?
Ginny
"Ginny?"
Ginny almost jumped out of her seat. It was Harry, hunched over her, his hair sticking up in all places.
She stared at him for she did not know how long until she shook herself and straightened up. "Yes, Harry?" she said a little too brightly.
"I'm sending Hedwig to your mum," he said, holding his reply letter up. "Want me to send yours?"
"Er—uh…" Ginny looked behind him to find Ron and Hermione scowling at four third-year boys in the corner. Hermione was holding matchbox-sized packs not unlike the ones Fred and George had used to pack one of their trick candies. Hermione looked irate; Ron was talking to them in what sounded like an authoritative tone.
"Looks like Ron's going to use that owl," said Harry.
Why don't we wait for Ron's letter and use that owl too? Ginny wanted to ask, but thought the better of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jane glance back and forth at them with her eyebrows raised.
Ginny almost gave Harry her parchment, but stopped quickly. Not that she thought Harry nosy, but she could not risk him reading her letter. There still were vestiges of excitement left in that smile of his, and his green eyes still had a glimmer that had nothing to do with the lighting in the room, and if he read her letter…all of that would be gone, and she would see a brooding, withdrawn Harry once again.
"I'm coming with you," Ginny said abruptly, standing up. She looked at Jane. "Um, see you later, Jane."
Jane gave her a clever sideways look, then shrugged. "Later."
Ginny and Harry slipped out of the common room quietly. Harry even let Ginny walk ahead of him.
There was silence—not an uncomfortable one, however—as the two of them walked down Gryffindor tower. Each of them seemed deep in thought. Ginny could not see Harry's face to know for sure how he had taken her accompanying him. Was he suspicious?
"Don't you think it's a bit early for your mum to invite me to the Burrow for Christmas?"
Ginny suddenly had to grip the handrail; she had taken a step too quickly. She turned to him. "Uh…yeah, I was wondering too."
"What do you think?"
Ginny shrugged and attempted to act as if it was something not worth worrying about. "Maybe she's excited you'd be coming," she said, forcing a grin. "You know Mum."
"Oh." Harry smiled sheepishly. "Er…right."
The sun was just setting when they arrived in the Owlery. Ginny could see the red-orange ball of fire halfway into its descent into the mountains in the horizon. As Harry pushed open the heavy door, Ginny was suddenly hit by the strong scent of owl droppings.
"Ah, smell that aroma," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Makes good desert, huh?"
Ginny snorted. "You're disgusting."
A large snowy owl had dismounted one of the topmost perches and descended towards them. Even before Harry could call her, Hedwig had flown towards him and mussed his hair by cuffing his head with a broad wing.
"Hedwig!" Harry chided his owl. Hedwig, unheeding, flapped her wings hard so that bits of hay flew around them.
Ginny laughed. "Looks like she's excited to fly again."
"As always." Hedwig had now alighted on Harry's arm. "Come on, Hedwig. You're sending a couple of letters to Mrs. Weasley, all right?"
Hedwig looked at him in rapt attention all of a sudden; she was now perched on Harry's arm in a dignified, almost stately manner—a kind of assurance that she could bring a letter to whomever Harry pleased. Ginny knew that Hedwig had herself hurt while trying to send a letter back to Harry just last year; apparently someone, Umbridge perhaps, had tried to search the trustworthy owl.
Harry had brought Hedwig to the balcony facing west. He set her down on the marble railing. Hedwig promptly extended a large claw, keeping her amber eyes on Harry.
"Here," Ginny said, handing Harry her small rolled-up parchment. Without any questions, Harry tied it with his own letter to Hedwig's foot.
Harry patted Hedwig's head and extended his free arm. Hedwig hopped on it, hooted softly and nipped his index finger. Ginny found herself smiling at the affectionate gesture.
"Be safe," Harry said in an audible whisper. Then he stretched his arm over the railing, and Hedwig took off, flying towards south.
"Quite an owl you have," Ginny said, stepping on Harry's side.
"Uh-huh." Harry rested his arms on the railing, keeping his eyes on Hedwig until she was a small speck in the dusk. "Mrs. Weasley should get our letters in a short while."
"Mm-hmm." Ginny leaned her elbows on the railing and her chin on her hands. Her eyes fell on the sun. "Hey, look at that."
Harry followed her gaze. The sun was now a dim figment of the golden glory that it is in the day. As they watched, it became a small reddish mound in the horizon, slowly hiding from view behind the mountains, slowly plunging the world into darkness.
Ginny became aware that silence had befallen them again. She started to glance at Harry, but suddenly, she was unable to take her eyes off him. His hair was sticking up on the back of his head where Hedwig had cuffed him; the slow breeze went through it as if it were grass. The eyes behind his glasses, she saw, were not exactly the bright green they always were. The light had somehow shone on it to give it a golden green tinge.
Ginny's breath caught as she saw how ethereal they appeared. But what eventually made her heart feel as if it were pinched ever so lightly and wonderfully by some welcome force was the small smile playing on his lips. It was set in his equally tranquil face, and it was so perfect that it sent Ginny's worries into oblivion. If only everything in our world today could be like that face, Ginny thought vaguely.
If only Harry could be like that always.
Harry did not seem to notice her gazing at him. Which was just as well—Ginny did not want to push through whatever peaceful thought there was in Harry's consciousness.
She took a deep breath silently so that he would not hear. And then, she leaned ever so slightly towards him such that her shoulder brushed with his.
They stayed that way, not speaking, even long after the sun had disappeared.
Author's Notes: Thanks, Mea (Coffeebean) and Jess (Alcarcalime), for the beta, and for Biggerstaffbunch and OzShadow for getting me to write again. Meann…Peter Pan? Oh, the cleverness of me…