Disclaimer-If you like it, assume I don't own it. The Potterverse belongs to JKR, Steve Klowes, Scholastic and WB. Fanon belongs to the multitude. . .I'm simply paying homage. Most of this scene is from GoF by JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Author's Notes—Progress has been a lot slower in this work, but I hope you'll all stick with me anyway. As you all know, I may not own it, but I work hard, and I love it, so if you read it and enjoy it, please review it! Please don't print or post this elsewhere without my knowledge.

Congratulations, all! Book 6 is on the way! Yay!

Nyerh—Thanks for the review. :-) I apologize for worrying you with the delay, but I don't intend to drop this story anytime in the foreseeable future. . . I love it way too much! Hope to hear from you again soon.

Rayny—Thanks. I love the bittersweet way Ginny does get up courage to talk to Harry only to have fate intervene. All good things come to those wait. . . I'm just not sure that's much comfort to Ginny yet!

Raiining—Thanks for the well-wishes—the portfolio went better than I expected:-) I couldn't resist that little meow-ment for Crookshanks. Unlike Hagrid and J. K. Rowling, I'm extremely fond of cats. . . and, so, of course, is Ginny. ;-) Neville is getting short shrift now, but I believe he'll grow into himself just as we've seen Ginny doing. . .

EEDOE—Thanks as always for your time, interest, and support! They mean more than you realize! hugs

Bill—My enthusiasm for this story really has been renewed—I'm continually amazed at how rich, deep, and rewarding writing it is! It's nice to think that some of that same appreciation can be communicated to my readers. ;-) I'm really pleased you think I can add depth with deceptively simple lines. . . that's quite a compliment! I've missed you. . . hope to hear from you soon! hugs

Could Fred have intended a Canary Cream for Neville in mind—a distraction for Hermione and a way of cheering Neville up— when he offered Hermione a jam tart? Surely not . . . that's too devious . . . even for the twins. . . .

"Har--"

Several second years--intent on purchasing canary creams--rushed past, upsetting Ginny's balance, and violently jolted her out of her reverie in the process. Ginny tilted precariously, instinctively throwing her arms out to catch herself. Something in the motion must have alerted Harry to both her presence and her plight, because he reached out and caught her in one arm as if grasping the Snitch in mid-flight.

"Oy, there!" Harry shouted after Ginny's inadvertent attackers, sounding for all the world like Ron. "Watch it!" Then suddenly, he was looking down into her face, his green eyes distracted but somehow solicitous. "Alright there, Ginny?"

"I . . . yeah . . . I--I mean. . . . Thanks," she mumbled breathlessly. "Yet another amazing feat, for such a young champion."

Harry grinned, looking more carefree than she usually saw him, and shrugged. "Not half as amazing as all this," he said easily. "No matter how they explain, I'll never quite understand how Fred and George manage. Brilliant, aren't they?"

"Among other things . . . um . . . about the kitchens--"

"Yeah," he broke in, seriousness tinting his expression, "it sounds as though Hermione's thinking of storming them, doesn't it?"

"Um . . . well, yeah, but. . . ."

"I don't think Ron and I will be able to talk her out of it. . . ." Harry said with the air of someone giving clandestine confession.

"No . . . probably not," said Ginny, still more aware of the lingering sensation of his hand briefly sliding across her back as he caught her, than of what he'd just said—let alone what she had been trying to say. She tried to swallow, but she found it hard to think, let alone do anything at all with the heat of Harry's body radiating gently toward her, his arm brushing hers just enough to make her wonder if the feeling was real, his eyes fixed so steadily upon her. "You . . . I . . . um . . . You . . . Are you going to go with her?"

"Have you gone nutters?" Harry demanded, with a wry grin that made Ginny's heart jerk sideways. "I'd rather face a dragon every day than SPEW."

"Um," Ginny replied intelligently. "That is . . . I think . . . the house-elves . . . they'll probably agree with you. . . . But Harry--"

"Wow, Harry! A dragon every day!" gasped Colin's little brother, Dennis. "Can Colin and I watch? Colin can take pictures--"

"Oh, hey, Ginny, want me to take a picture of you and Harry?" Colin asked, appearing out of nowhere.

Ginny could feel Harry's entire body tense as he groaned under his breath. "Oh no . . . not again."

"Well . . . it's nice of you to offer, but--"

A sudden burst of light—which, in retrospect, she should have been expecting—went off, leaving dark spots dancing in front of her eyes. Harry's fingers involuntarily clutched at her waist again as he jumped, blinking wildly.

"I bet that's a great picture," Dennis enthused. "I can't wait to see it . . . can you, Ginny? Now—my turn!"

Harry gave Ginny a helpless, but vaguely amused look over Dennis' head as he bounded between them. Ginny sighed, shaking her head, and offering Harry a last, wryly sympathetic smile as she retreated.

"Oh, I might as well give up," she mumbled under her breath, stalking toward the girls' dormitory. "I'm going to bed!"

After changing into her fuzzy-worn flannel pajamas, however, she ended up sitting in bed with Crookshanks curled and purring, across her feet as he attempted to snatch the quill—which she was using to write a letter describing the TriWizard Tournament to Professor Lupin—out of her hand when she wasn't looking. Once the letter was finished, Ginny, far too worried, excited, confused . . . or something . . . to sleep, or even to write in her journal, found herself taking up Mansfield Park, the novel Hermione had given her for her birthday.

Ginny read the account of Fanny's first family dinner with Edmund and the Crawfords with surprise, and the later visit which included Fanny's aunt and uncle eagerly.Fanny Price, the heroine of the novel, and her cousin Edmund Crawford's closest confidante, was sensitive, shy, and often overlooked…the more so since the lively, confident, playful Mary Crawford had moved into the neighborhood . . . and yet . . . somehow, even though she disapproved of Miss Crawford, and her brother Henry, Fanny was becoming Miss Crawford's friend

Ginny could hardly imagine what would happen at the ball Sir Thomas was planning to throw for Fanny, amazed as she was at the development of such a ball. . . . She finally fell asleep, still wondering, long after the other girls had filled the room with the soft sound of their snoring.

Her dreams were a confused muddle of images . . . herself imposed over Fanny, Harry as Edmund. . . . Henry Crawford without a face . . . and then, staring at her own image in a strange mirror with writing around the frame for ages, until Tom's shadow began to flicker beneath it and rise to the surface like the face of a drowning victim in a lake. . . . Her own voice, distant and detached, wailing like Seamus' banshee-- "No!" The image shifting, shimmering between Tom's face and someone else's . . . she thought . . . it might be Harry . . . and then exploding suddenly in a relieving, heartbreaking, shower of sparks like golden rain. . . .

She woke hot and cross, a condition the shower did nothing to correct, as it refused to flow smoothly, keeping on in fits and starts, sometimes icy, sometimes scalding in a way that made Ginny want to curse anything or anyone who would hold still long enough for her to take her frustration out on.

All the little imperfections of appearance she rarely took time to notice in herself seemed to leap out at her as she dressed. Her skirt, limp with age, still somehow managed to look rumpled. There were spots—probably from that incident in Potions last week—on her blouse. Her robes had split along the left armpit. And for some reason—look where she would, she couldn't seem to locate her House tie. Grimly thankful the mirror had enough sense not to say anything, Ginny went down to breakfast only to find the table already so crowded she was forced to perch awkwardly on the end of the bench, a full table-length away from Lee, Ron and Hermione, and the twins.

Which was probably just as well, since it meant she was also far away from Harry; still off-balance from the night before, she felt equally incapable of dealing with his interest or his indifference . . . but being separated from him bothered her just the same . . . especially since she couldn't quit thinking about those few seconds in the tower when they'd been so very close indeed. . . .