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.
HBP—WOW! I devoured it, and I'm still digesting. I can't believe it's really here…I need to read it again, how about you guys?
And—oh, yeah—I know there are a couple little things in previous stories I should adjust to be in canon, but its either revision or new posts...for now, I prefer to keep the momentum going! Hope you appreciate the longer-than-usual chappie!
Arachnasloom—What a nice thing to say, thanks! Real people sometimes do silly and unexpected things—particularly when they're young and have a massive crush—so I thought it was important to the development of Ginny as a realistic character that she DID send them both the Valentine and the Get Well Card. I'm glad to know that you agree :-)
JamieBell, GigiFanfic, vixen519, realfanficts, nyerh, Rayny, and all you other semi-silent readers—Haven't heard from you in a while...hope you're still reading!
Raiining—Looking forward to your next review :-)
J.Rhaye—I'm really looking forward to OotP and HBP as well...if my stamina holds up, that is! crosses fingers and looks for wood to knock You make a great point about Hermione's uniques perspective on magic—I hadn't even consciously thought of that! I agree, I liked Ginny's choice to do something active rather than sit moping and passive. I think Ginny can be a bit vindictive—to be vindictive is merely human, after all—but that it's always leavened with empathy, which is more than most people can say. I agree, seeing that scene through Ginny's eyes is easier, because we know she and Hermione aren't sitting around sighing after what they can't have. . . and soon the boys will too! ;-) I'll keep your space warm for you! hugs
EEDOE—I can only hope this chapter lives up to all the support and help you've put into it! Thanks! hugs
Bill—I agree with you a hundred and fifty percent about Neville—I think he may just be the REAL hero of the HP series. I was kind of under the impression Neville and Ginny HAD started a friendship already, or he wouldn't have asked her to the Ball? But I see what you mean; it probably does deepen and mature between now and the end of OotP. I agree that Ginny's deepening popularity is simply a blossoming of seeds planted far earlier in her school career. So...you thought editing was, fun, huh? I think we may see you morph into a writer yet. ;-) And, yes, for the record, females do often think men are—funny—pigs. :-D hugs
Since Ginny didn't have classes on Friday until her Astronomy lesson that evening, she spent most of the morning lolling happily in bed, picturing the upcoming holidays, spent with Harry and including the ball. After lunch, she wandered out to the Quidditch Pitch and flew about for a bit, enjoying the freedom until her ears and nose stopped feeling numb and began to burn with cold.
Hagrid, at home, and surprisingly unoccupied, was more than happy to remedy this with a huge, steaming mug of wonderfully fragrant tea in front of his comfortable, crackling fire. Ginny wished that she could be rather more helpful in suggesting what he should get Madam Maxime for Christmas, but Hagrid didn't seem to notice her lack of familiarity with Madam Maxime's personal tastes. Ginny had to admit—to herself at least—that, understand it or not, she had rarely seen him so happy. She was, in fact—though she tried hard not to admit it—more than a bit jealous. Feeling lonely, disgruntled, and somewhat ridiculous for feeling either, Ginny stalked back up to the common room.
"Oh, Ginny!" Colin called, making her turn around in circles in the attempt to locate where his voice was coming from. "I got my pictures developed. Come see." He had solved her problem by grabbing her hand and bodily yanking her into a—rather shadowy—corner of the room where his little brother, Denis, was sitting in front of a coffee table.
She was in the midst of studying several shots of various Gryffindors as canaries, courtesy of sweets from Fred and George, when the portrait swung open and Ron dropped into the room, looking completely blinkered and mightily embarrassed; rather as though Peeves had clubbed him with a large fish. He didn't seem to have any clear idea of where to go, or of what to do, but simply stood there as if petrified.
"These are great, Colin," Ginny said with a sigh, "I'd love to see the rest of them some time . . ."
Leaving the Creevy brothers behind to stare at her back in blank confusion, she went to retrieve her brother. "Ron . . . are you okay? What happened?"
He turned to face her, staring at her with goggling, dazed eyes and a distinctly flushed complexion. "Why did I do it? I don't know what made me do it!"
Ginny grabbed his arm and led him, unresisting, to another corner, far removed from the Creevys. "What did you do?"
"I don't know what made me do it," Ron groaned, sinking into the overstuffed chair as if hoping it would completely absorb him from view. "I didn't mean to . . ."
"It's okay, Ron," said Ginny, perching on the arm of the chair and patting his shoulder. "Whatever you did, I'm sure it can't be that bad—Fred and George have done far worse." Probably this week even.
"There were people—everyone watching—she was—Diggory—I was--"
Ginny frowned. "She was . . . talking to Cedric Diggory with lots of people watching, alright . . . Who?"
"Fleur Delacour—that girl who's one of the Champions!" Ron groaned again, sinking even deeper into the chair stuffing.
"The one who doesn't appreciate Hogwarts, you mean?" Ginny asked dryly.
"Yeah, that's the one," Ron said vaguely. "Harry and I—we need dates—for the ball. I was—in the entrance hall—thinking about who I could ask—and she was talking to Diggory—and—and—I don't know what came over me—and I asked her!"
"Well," Ginny said, feeling her stomach twist even though she knew the answer, "what did she say?"
"Nothing," Ron grumbled, turning an even darker shade of maroon. "Just—looked at me."
"Oh, Ron, I--" but it was perhaps a good thing the sound of a backpack hitting the floor brought her up short, as—torn between the desire to make him feel better and the desire to give in to sudden, hysterical laughter—she wasn't sure exactly what it was she was going to say.
"What's up, Ron?" Harry asked, sounding a bit dull and dejected.
Ron looked up at Harry, still with that oddly blank look of fear on his face. "Why did I do it? I don't know what made me do it!"
"What?" said Harry, sounding rather as Ginny had felt when she'd first approached Ron.
"He—er—just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him," Ginny said. She patted Ron's arm to let him know that she wasn't making fun of him, and that he had her sympathy, but she couldn't quite keep the spark of humor from her voice.
"You what?" Harry demanded. If he had noticed her amusement, he was doing a good job of ignoring it. Always the oblivious, Ginny reflected, not without affection.
"I don't know what made me do it!" Ron gasped. "What was I playing at? There were people—all around—I've gone mad—everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall—she was standing there talking to Diggory—and it sort of came over me—and I asked her!" He buried his face in his hands, mumbling, "She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn't even answer. And then—I dunno—I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it."
"She's part veela," said Harry, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet, as if considering patting Ron's other shoulder, but afraid of how he would react. "You were right—her grandmother was one. It wasn't your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it--"
Ginny looked up at him, her whole heart in her eyes for the space of a heartbeat as he continued, "—but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang."
Ron looked up, suddenly alert, but Ginny found herself suddenly looking at Ron's arm, noticing that his robes were decidedly faded against the bright upholstery of the arm chair as her heart fell to the soles of her shoes.
"I asked her to go with me just now," Harry said, in that same deadened tone he'd used earlier, "and she told me."
Ginny felt as if her whole body were being buried in disappointment.
"This is mad," Ron said flatly. "We're the only ones left who haven't got anyone—well, except Neville. Hey—guess who he asked! Hermione!"
Ginny wouldn't have expected Hermione was likely to tell Ron about Neville's invitation—and, belatedly, the amused expression on Ron's face filtered through the distorting veil of her disappointment. Insensitive prat. I can't believe I worried about how you'd react to Krum—you deserve it, you thick git! Ginny would have hexed him if only she could have moved.
"What?" Harry demanded, hardly more flattering. Though he did sound a bit less depressed about Cho. Caught between angry snarls and dejected sniffles, Ginny winced and glared in his direction.
"Yeah, I know!" Ron dissolved into laughter. "He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff, but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville . . . I mean, who would?"
"Don't!" Ginny snapped, momentarily as cured of her disappointment as Ron was of his embarrassment. "Don't laugh--" He's braver and smarter than you . . . at least he asked someone for more than her looks, and he did it before you, did . . . Even Harry was chuckling.
Just then, Hermione climbed through the portrait hole.
"Why weren't you two at dinner?" she asked coming over to join them. Hey! Ginny thought, even more annoyed, there are three of us here if you hadn't noticed!
Ron and Harry didn't respond. They were too busy trying to stifle their continued chuckles in their sleeves. "Because—oh shut up laughing, you two—because they've both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!" Ginny said with a certain amount of satisfaction.
"Thanks a bunch, Ginny," Ron snapped, but he and Harry had both stopped laughing.
"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" Hermione demanded loftily. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere who'll have you."
Ron was staring at Hermione as if thoroughly enlightened.
"Hermione, Neville's right—you are a girl . . ."
"Oh, well spotted," Hermione spat, in a way that made the far-distant Creevy brothers sit up and take notice.
"Well—you can come with one of us!"
"No, I can't!" Hermione might as well have been spitting fire.
"Oh, come on, we need partners. We're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, and everyone else has . . ."
Oh, and who's fault is that? You really are thicker than day-old porridge, and half as likeable –Ginny snorted, and as usual, no one noticed.
"I can't come with you," Hermione said. Oh, of course, Ginny thought wryly, when she blushes, she turns a delicate shade of pink, how fetching. Her own sigh was swamped in guilt, however, as Hermione continued, "Because I'm already going with someone."
"No, you're not! You just said that to get rid of Neville," Ron said confidently. Ginny's guilt evaporated. She was beginning to feel as if someone had force-fed her Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-up Potion again.
"Oh did I?" Hermione looked scarier than Mum at full-eruption. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!" Well, at least she's not disappointed she didn't wait on him to ask her now, Ginny consoled herself.
Ron, unbelievably and rather offensively, was grinning. "Okay, okay, we know you're a girl. That do? Will you come now?"
"I've already told you!" Hermione looked near tears, and Ginny was guessing it wasn't because she was sad. "I'm going with someone else!"
"She's lying," Ron said as he watched her ricochet up the stairs to her dorm.
"She's not," Ginny said, very calmly. Too calmly, as Ron would have known if he was paying attention. Harry was looking quite pointedly at his trainers, as if he'd never seen them before.
"Who is it then?" Ron asked, suddenly looking like a fox alert to a potential invasion of his territory. Ginny only narrowly avoided rolling her eyes. "I'm not telling you." Even though I'd like to see the look on your face when you found out, you disgusting, cement-brained excuse for a Weasley. "It's her business," Ginny added resolutely.
"Right," Ron snapped, clearly disbelieving. "This is getting stupid. Ginny, you can go with Harry, and I'll just--"
Harry's head had come up with a snap. It would have been comical, if it weren't so insulting.
"I can't--" Ginny said with new appreciation for just how uncomfortable Hermione had been feeling. And even if I could, I'm not sure I would want to go with someone who couldn't even ask me himself . . . but even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. She'd have been glad to go with Harry, no matter how it had been arranged. And, somehow, she didn't doubt the clear emerald eyes suddenly fixed on her, unblinking, could see the truth in her face. She'd never imagined humiliation could feel so utterly complete. Her entire soul was on fire. "I'm going with—with Neville." And if either of you laughs, I'll make sure you regret it. I don't know how, but I will.
"He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought . . . well. . . I'm not going to be able to go otherwise; I'm not in fourth year." Her stomach, sitting in the back of her throat, gave a sickening twist. She had to get out of there. And, somehow, she wasn't ready to face Hermione . . . nor did she think Hermione would be ready to face her. "I think I'll go and have dinner," she said, even though she had never felt less like eating in her entire life . . . not even during her soul-shredding first year.
She could feel Harry's eyes following her as she crawled through the portrait hole, and they broke her heart. Driven by the need to put some space between them, without any idea of whether she was headed toward the Great Hall or not, she was running before the Fat Lady had swung shut.