Dancing With Myself
The moonlight glowed serenely among the stars that glittered in the clear night ceiling. The ghosts had joined the party and were executing a lovely waltz under it. Beneath them Hogwart's students celebrated Christmas with an abandon that could only come from a combination of school break, butterbeer and the Weird Sisters. They were playing their latest hit – "Wizardwall" to the delight of the dancers, most of whom seemed to be girls. Harry noticed that he and Ron weren't the only boys that had declined to join in the faster stuff. Quite a few young wizards were drinking butterbeer and laughing amongst themselves. Their dates were having a wonderful time despite their absence. Or perhaps because of it -- Harry wasn't sure. The girls seemed to just form huge circles and dance alone, yet together. It was quite odd, really.
Harry watched Ginny dance in a whirl of translucent white. She and Hermione had shrugged and skidded right up to the front of the room when they begged off. Ron flopped down in relieved abandon saying that he had warned Hermione of his dancing handicap ahead of time. Ginny gave him a look he couldn't quite interpret, then followed her. That glance was preying on him now as he sat half-listening to Ron go on at length about the Cannons. She looked disappointed, but not surprised. It was as if she wasn't really expecting him to act…well…to act like a date. He kicked the table in petulant anger. Luckily Ron was too absorbed in replaying the Canon's last loss to notice.
SHE invited HIM and now he was being ignored. He dragged his eyes away from the dance floor with a snort. Not half a minute later they were back, still resentful. He wasn't really being the best of company and it frustrated him. It wasn't like he was TRYING to act stupid! On the contrary, he'd even thought of several things to say that sounded almost clever. They just…. just sat there! Like flobberworms on his tongue. Mute. It was ten times worse than with Cho. He'd had so few opportunities to actually speak with her; most of their conversations had happened in his head. And THOSE exchanges always went remarkably well.
Ginny looked beautiful and wild in those robes that left her neck and shoulders almost bare. The tumbling curls seemed to dance and mock him maliciously. He felt the now commonplace feeling of longing in his stomach and wondered absently if this was normal – shouldn't he be feeling it in his heart? With Cho it had felt like a sort of leaden paralysis. Come to think of it – it was remarkably similar with Ginny. Ginny! Of all people. He still couldn't believe it.
He relaxed slightly as he let his mind rove back; replaying various scenes in the past in which Ginny had been somewhere in the picture. It bothered him that she was never in the foreground… or the center. She was an afterthought in almost all of them --always pushed aside like the circulars you discarded to get to the important mail.
He found himself doing this a lot lately. Sometimes he reveled in it; enjoying the feeling of incredulity that he'd not noticed how pretty she'd looked or how smart she was. But now it nagged at him like a ragged fingernail. He'd paid dearly in the past when he'd taken something too lightly – like the second task in the Tournament – he'd waited to figure out the task until it was almost too late. He didn't like feeling like he was might lose something just when it became dear…
With a surge of sudden determination, he decided that he would ask her to dance. Definitely. He would gather all the courage he'd carried into the Chamber of Secrets and into the paddock of the Horntail. He would ask her to dance and she would glow up at him and smile…
As soon as a slow song came on.
He resumed his seat slowly, feeling like a complete git. Ron was staring up at him suspiciously.
"I HOPE you're going to get some more butterbeer, Harry. Thought you might have been thinking about having a bit of a jaunt around the dance floor. I got a sudden image of you flitting about like Hermione or Gin. Not a pretty sight. Best stay out of trouble until a slow song. Then they'll HAVE to come back or dance with each other… they wouldn't do that, would they?" he suddenly sounded worried.
"Erm…Dunno…" Harry felt his ears burn and didn't even bother to cuff him. He shrugged off the embarrassment and planned his next move.
All right. At least he'd been forced to slow dance once before. No one had pointed or laughed at him, so he must have been OK. Yes, he could definitely manage that. And it wouldn't be like last year when everyone was staring at him and the other three champions alone with their partners on the dance floor. No one would even notice. He remembered pulling Ginny up from the garden path and the electric jolt that shocked his hand at her touch. Would it be the same? Only more so? He would have to hold her waist as well. He felt heat rise to his face at the mere thought…Yes, this was definitely the right idea…
It got suddenly quiet. Glancing up, he saw Hermione approaching them. Looking beautiful, she smiled and held out her hand to Ron, who silently took it and followed. Harry started to chuckle at the picture of abject submission when the music pierced his brain. It was a slow song! He jumped to his feet and leaped toward the dance floor.
And stopped dead.
There, bathed in the glow of a thousand tiny lights, two figures circled around the center of the dance floor in perfect harmony. The plaintive melody seemed to curl around them in wisps of rippling chords. They seemed unaware of the whispering and gawping that surrounded them. A tall blond boy was gazing down into the dark, dark eyes of a girl with tumbling red curls dressed in white.
Harry felt himself falling; down, down into the pit of his stomach. He hit bottom with an echoing thud.
It was... it was…Ginny.
An ethereal glow seemed to radiate from her face. Though he couldn't see them in the twinkling radiance, Harry knew that the eyes that gazed so raptly down into hers were a deep twinkling blue.
It was Kirley McCormack.
And the great, good Harry Potter watched little Ginny Weasley clasped in the arms of a good-looking, talented guy…and felt a jealous hatred he'd never felt before. The Hall seemed to freeze in time, leaving the graceful revolving pair alone in a world of their own. They seemed more than happy with that. As Harry watched in growing revulsion, Ginny cocked her head slightly toward McKormack and he whispered in her ear. She lowered her eyes and a smile of quiet joy seemed to bloom on her lips. Harry knew then -- deep in his soul that if a Dementor suddenly appeared in the Great Hall, he would gladly leap forward and shove that grungy, groovy git right up to it's lips.
The warm, awkward lump that beat so queerly against his ribs turned cold as he watched a hand tip Ginny's chin upward and –
He didn't see anything more because he'd fled.
He didn't run – at least he still had his pride -- but he DID bump quite a few robed shoulders as he blindly strode to the door. No one seemed to notice since they were all gazing with gooey approval at the tableaux bathed in a warm glow. He caught a glimpse of RON and even HE looked like he would wait to hear a defense before attempting to land the guy a facer. That betrayal echoed in his middle when he slammed the door behind him. His were the only footsteps through the entryway as he threw himself into the front doors.
The cold hit him squarely in his gut when he landed outside. He embraced it as something real and hard and trustworthy. It was easier to forget the sights he'd witnessed when he inhaled the frigid air in huge gasps. He gazed out over the cold, still sparkle of the frozen lake, trying to banish the image by sheer will alone. But it kept assaulting him – that look of beatific beauty on Ginny's face as she gazed…. He didn't want to feel the anger, the feeling of abandon, but most of all, the sense that, like the snitch that just brushed his hand before speeding away, he'd lost something just at the moment when he should have claimed victory.
He felt a hand on his heaving shoulders and spun around furiously, almost hoping for a fight.
It was Hermione. She was clutching herself against the bone-chilling wind, curls whipping about her face, dress robes billowing frantically. In her dark eyes shown an amazing, silent depth of understanding. Without saying a word, she put her arms around him. He didn't lay his head on her shoulder but he welcomed the refuge and didn't shrug away. She didn't speak; didn't have to -- and Harry was glad.
The moonlight glowed serenely among the stars that glittered in the clear night ceiling. The ghosts had joined the party and were executing a lovely waltz under it. Beneath them Hogwart's students celebrated Christmas with an abandon that could only come from a combination of school break, butterbeer and the Weird Sisters. They were playing their latest hit – "Wizardwall" to the delight of the dancers, most of whom seemed to be girls. Harry noticed that he and Ron weren't the only boys that had declined to join in the faster stuff. Quite a few young wizards were drinking butterbeer and laughing amongst themselves. Their dates were having a wonderful time despite their absence. Or perhaps because of it -- Harry wasn't sure. The girls seemed to just form huge circles and dance alone, yet together. It was quite odd, really.
Harry watched Ginny dance in a whirl of translucent white. She and Hermione had shrugged and skidded right up to the front of the room when they begged off. Ron flopped down in relieved abandon saying that he had warned Hermione of his dancing handicap ahead of time. Ginny gave him a look he couldn't quite interpret, then followed her. That glance was preying on him now as he sat half-listening to Ron go on at length about the Cannons. She looked disappointed, but not surprised. It was as if she wasn't really expecting him to act…well…to act like a date. He kicked the table in petulant anger. Luckily Ron was too absorbed in replaying the Canon's last loss to notice.
SHE invited HIM and now he was being ignored. He dragged his eyes away from the dance floor with a snort. Not half a minute later they were back, still resentful. He wasn't really being the best of company and it frustrated him. It wasn't like he was TRYING to act stupid! On the contrary, he'd even thought of several things to say that sounded almost clever. They just…. just sat there! Like flobberworms on his tongue. Mute. It was ten times worse than with Cho. He'd had so few opportunities to actually speak with her; most of their conversations had happened in his head. And THOSE exchanges always went remarkably well.
Ginny looked beautiful and wild in those robes that left her neck and shoulders almost bare. The tumbling curls seemed to dance and mock him maliciously. He felt the now commonplace feeling of longing in his stomach and wondered absently if this was normal – shouldn't he be feeling it in his heart? With Cho it had felt like a sort of leaden paralysis. Come to think of it – it was remarkably similar with Ginny. Ginny! Of all people. He still couldn't believe it.
He relaxed slightly as he let his mind rove back; replaying various scenes in the past in which Ginny had been somewhere in the picture. It bothered him that she was never in the foreground… or the center. She was an afterthought in almost all of them --always pushed aside like the circulars you discarded to get to the important mail.
He found himself doing this a lot lately. Sometimes he reveled in it; enjoying the feeling of incredulity that he'd not noticed how pretty she'd looked or how smart she was. But now it nagged at him like a ragged fingernail. He'd paid dearly in the past when he'd taken something too lightly – like the second task in the Tournament – he'd waited to figure out the task until it was almost too late. He didn't like feeling like he was might lose something just when it became dear…
With a surge of sudden determination, he decided that he would ask her to dance. Definitely. He would gather all the courage he'd carried into the Chamber of Secrets and into the paddock of the Horntail. He would ask her to dance and she would glow up at him and smile…
As soon as a slow song came on.
He resumed his seat slowly, feeling like a complete git. Ron was staring up at him suspiciously.
"I HOPE you're going to get some more butterbeer, Harry. Thought you might have been thinking about having a bit of a jaunt around the dance floor. I got a sudden image of you flitting about like Hermione or Gin. Not a pretty sight. Best stay out of trouble until a slow song. Then they'll HAVE to come back or dance with each other… they wouldn't do that, would they?" he suddenly sounded worried.
"Erm…Dunno…" Harry felt his ears burn and didn't even bother to cuff him. He shrugged off the embarrassment and planned his next move.
All right. At least he'd been forced to slow dance once before. No one had pointed or laughed at him, so he must have been OK. Yes, he could definitely manage that. And it wouldn't be like last year when everyone was staring at him and the other three champions alone with their partners on the dance floor. No one would even notice. He remembered pulling Ginny up from the garden path and the electric jolt that shocked his hand at her touch. Would it be the same? Only more so? He would have to hold her waist as well. He felt heat rise to his face at the mere thought…Yes, this was definitely the right idea…
It got suddenly quiet. Glancing up, he saw Hermione approaching them. Looking beautiful, she smiled and held out her hand to Ron, who silently took it and followed. Harry started to chuckle at the picture of abject submission when the music pierced his brain. It was a slow song! He jumped to his feet and leaped toward the dance floor.
And stopped dead.
There, bathed in the glow of a thousand tiny lights, two figures circled around the center of the dance floor in perfect harmony. The plaintive melody seemed to curl around them in wisps of rippling chords. They seemed unaware of the whispering and gawping that surrounded them. A tall blond boy was gazing down into the dark, dark eyes of a girl with tumbling red curls dressed in white.
Harry felt himself falling; down, down into the pit of his stomach. He hit bottom with an echoing thud.
It was... it was…Ginny.
An ethereal glow seemed to radiate from her face. Though he couldn't see them in the twinkling radiance, Harry knew that the eyes that gazed so raptly down into hers were a deep twinkling blue.
It was Kirley McCormack.
And the great, good Harry Potter watched little Ginny Weasley clasped in the arms of a good-looking, talented guy…and felt a jealous hatred he'd never felt before. The Hall seemed to freeze in time, leaving the graceful revolving pair alone in a world of their own. They seemed more than happy with that. As Harry watched in growing revulsion, Ginny cocked her head slightly toward McKormack and he whispered in her ear. She lowered her eyes and a smile of quiet joy seemed to bloom on her lips. Harry knew then -- deep in his soul that if a Dementor suddenly appeared in the Great Hall, he would gladly leap forward and shove that grungy, groovy git right up to it's lips.
The warm, awkward lump that beat so queerly against his ribs turned cold as he watched a hand tip Ginny's chin upward and –
He didn't see anything more because he'd fled.
He didn't run – at least he still had his pride -- but he DID bump quite a few robed shoulders as he blindly strode to the door. No one seemed to notice since they were all gazing with gooey approval at the tableaux bathed in a warm glow. He caught a glimpse of RON and even HE looked like he would wait to hear a defense before attempting to land the guy a facer. That betrayal echoed in his middle when he slammed the door behind him. His were the only footsteps through the entryway as he threw himself into the front doors.
The cold hit him squarely in his gut when he landed outside. He embraced it as something real and hard and trustworthy. It was easier to forget the sights he'd witnessed when he inhaled the frigid air in huge gasps. He gazed out over the cold, still sparkle of the frozen lake, trying to banish the image by sheer will alone. But it kept assaulting him – that look of beatific beauty on Ginny's face as she gazed…. He didn't want to feel the anger, the feeling of abandon, but most of all, the sense that, like the snitch that just brushed his hand before speeding away, he'd lost something just at the moment when he should have claimed victory.
He felt a hand on his heaving shoulders and spun around furiously, almost hoping for a fight.
It was Hermione. She was clutching herself against the bone-chilling wind, curls whipping about her face, dress robes billowing frantically. In her dark eyes shown an amazing, silent depth of understanding. Without saying a word, she put her arms around him. He didn't lay his head on her shoulder but he welcomed the refuge and didn't shrug away. She didn't speak; didn't have to -- and Harry was glad.