Winter, 1994

December First. Hermione caught up to Ginny after Transfiguration, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. The littlest Weasley knew that look: it was the look of contentment. After placing a Silencing Charm around their location, the brunette had confided in Ginny about being asked to the Ball by Viktor Krum. Ginny was a bit jealous – an international Quidditch star had asked Hermione to the ball, of course she was going to have a snippet of those feelings rise up in her. Ginny's envy turned to naught when Hermione frowned and her eyes dulled at Ginny's covetous reaction, and divulged an even bigger secret, one which Ginny wasn't to tell under pain of death: Hermione wished Ron had asked her first. When Ginny asked why Hermione didn't just ask him, the brunette stammered a reply along the lines of "boys should ask girls". Ginny just smiled, rolled her eyes, and took the elder girl by the hand. Smartest witch of her year, and she couldn't even figure out that Ronnie liked her back. Instead of pushing it, however, Ginny just listened to Hermione wonder what to wear, adding her own opinion when it was clearly wanted.

Just outside the common room, Ginny made an excuse about forgetting something or another in McGonagall's classroom, which Hermione accepted without a second thought. As soon as the portrait hole closed behind the older girl, Ginny's smile vanished. She laughed at the girl who had the same problem as she.

Hypocrite, she thought, tears beginning to form in her own eyes.

She made her way down towards the lake, lost in thought, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. It was just warm enough to get by with a sweater and not a coat, and the snowfall a few days before was melting. Patches of sickly yellow-green were evident through the dirty, slushy ice. Small pockets of water gathered in the potholes along the dirt path, and she skipped through and around them, thankful, for once, that she decided to wear her rain boots.

She hadn't been puddle-jumping in years, since before she attended Hogwarts. Now, it took her back to before she had met Hermione or Harry. A half-grin formed on her face as she stomped into a particularly clear puddle, delighting in the patterns that the dirt formed. She didn't have to stay clean for once, instead allowing the water to splash on her robe and underneath it, getting her legs wet and her robe sopping.

She didn't think of her relationship problems, or those of Hermione's. There was no homework or Houses, no rivalries. There was only little Ginny Weasley, ten years old, playing alone in the yard on a rainy summer day, while Molly looked out the window of the Burrow for her husband, as she cooked. After a while, even that fantasy disappeared.

Then, there was only Ginny.

Aguamenti.

December Twelfth. Neville had asked her to the ball, after she'd come back to classes. The puddle jumping hadn't been such a good idea, after all, and she accepted in exchange for his help with Herbology catch-up.

Orchideous.

December Fifteenth. Ron was quivering and near tears. Ginny was trying to calm him, hoping to keep the spectacle under control. It didn't work, as her coos and obvious Molly impression only made him more upset. Harry and Hermione came over to see what was wrong, and Ginny revealed Ron's blunder. After continuing his spectacle for a few more minutes, just for Hermione and Harry's benefit, Ron went suddenly quiet (that was never good). When he looked up, Ginny could practically see the gears in his head working.

Ginny tsked in her head. Ronnie, Ronnie, don't play with fire.

Later on, she comforted both Ron and Hermione (at different times of course) over the loss of the other. Hermione wanted to cancel her date with Viktor and go with Ron instead, but Ginny managed to dissuade her from that line of thought. Instead, she persuaded Hermione to go with Viktor, to prove to Ron that she (Hermione) wasn't as desperate as he was.

She later told Ron the truth: he was a git for assuming Hermione was going to the Ball alone, and yes, she really did have a date. Both girls did. Yes, really.

Git, she thought as he stormed away.

Riddikulus.

December Twenty-Fifth. Ginny was cold. Not "freezing to the core" cold, not even physically cold. Just cold, and she couldn't quite figure out why. Neville stepped on her toes again and she winced, forcing herself to look up at him with a smile plastered on her face.

He whispered something to her. A thanks for coming to the Ball with him, she thought. She nodded, and buried her face in his white dress shirt (lucky Neville – she wasn't wearing any makeup), shivering. He stopped their dance and led her to a table, where he took off his dress robe and offered it to her. She accepted it, allowing him to place it on her, laughing when she held her arms up and some of the fabric from the sleeves dangled off her limbs. Awkward, gangly Cousin Neville blushed and held his hand out for her. Ginny, now physically toasty, lead him outside, where they stood and made small talk.

Snow soaked her satin slippers, the prettiest shoes she owned, but she didn't care. She just couldn't bear to see the Patil twin, whichever one she was, simpering over Harry, getting mad when he won't dance, and so obviously with him only because he's a Champion.

Neville shivered, and she realized he wasn't wearing his jacket, and his shirt was rather thin. The jacket, she noticed, had kept her warm as though she was wearing a coat. She allowed him to lead her back inside, where the classical music had finally stopped and a band was seemingly beginning to set up.

She still shivered when she saw him.

December Twenty-Fifth, later that night. She couldn't stand watching Harry watch Cho all night. Why didn't he just look once at her? She thought she looked very pretty. She wanted to cut out early, but didn't want to give the wrong impression to Neville, who would either take it as a sign that she wanted to snog (ew, favorite cousin!), or that she was embarrassed to be with him.

She couldn't do that to her favorite cousin.

Rictusempra.