Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely Ginny Weasley, nor am I making any profit from this. No copyright infringement of J.K. Rowlingís property is intended.
I must be losing my mind.
There we were, Dean and I, having just come from a particularly successful practice before the match against Slytherin, in a deserted hallway on the way back to the common room. What possessed us to use that particular location for a passionate snog, Iíll never know. Unfortunately, just as I had worked up the nerve to give Deanís bum a cheeky squeeze (erÖ no pun intended of course), our encounter was rudely interrupted by none other than my nosy git of a brother and his best mate. Getting caught in such a compromising position by Harry and my resulting mortification only fuelled the rage that I promptly directed at Ron. Why did Harry have to be there? Had it been anyone else, I would have put Ron in his place with a few well-aimed jibes and gone on my way. As it was, I was outraged at my own embarrassment and let my emotions get the better of me. Poor Ron, I donít think he knew what had hit him when I was done.
But thatís not why I think Iím losing my mind. I was too focused on giving Ron a right bollocking at the time, but in retrospect there seemed something unusual about Harryís reaction. Granted, the boy has always been repressed when it comes to talking about matters of the heart, so it really wasnít surprising that he was mortified to the point of speechlessness upon seeing our ardent display. One thing Harry is not good at, however, is hiding his emotions. Itís all right there in those eyes that burn, in the brow that furrows in a certain way, and the jaw that visibly clenches. And based on all those indicators, Harry got really angry. A furious Harry is quite frightening, so I canít blame Dean for wanting to get the hell out of there as soon as he realized Harry was not going to sympathize. Of course, Harry was almost immediately distracted from his anger by having to referee between Ron and me. But Iím sure I didnít imagine itÖ did I?
Normally, I wouldnít think twice about Harryís unexpected reaction. I donít think I could ever fully understand that boy, even if I had an entire lifetime to dissect his mannerisms. But lately Iíve noticed some very un-Harry-like behaviour, as far back as this past summer at the Burrow. It started with him laughing at my stupid Phlegm jokes. It seems trivial, but as heís never laughed at my jokes before, I noticed it. I had always just assumed that he didnít find me funny, but evidently thatís no longer the case. Then, he actually sought me out to find a compartment to share on the train back to school. As inconsequential as that seems, heís never made a concerted effort to be in my company before. Naturally, I always considered myself an extra, a neutral addition. Well, he proved that wrong when he invited me to go to Hogsmeade with him, Ron and Hermione.
Now, Iím a sensible girl. Iím not typically prone to flights of fancy, my first few years at Hogwarts notwithstanding. Iíve learned to take things at face value, especially when it comes to Harry. I know that it wonít do me any good to read something into this un-Harry-like behaviour that isnít really there. So even after all of that, I simply acknowledged that Harry apparently enjoyed my company, for whatever reason, and left it at that.
However, after what just happened in that deserted hallway, after seeing the unmistakable anger well up inside him, Iím not so sure I was imagining things. Iím pretty good at deciphering a personís intentions from his actions. Harryís no easy subject, though; in fact, Iíd be surprised if Bill the professional curse breaker could crack his Ďcode.í And so, weíve come, after much deliberation, to the reason I think Iím losing my mind. I think Harry might fancy me. Iíve got to be crazy for even considering it; I promised myself years ago that I would never entertain that line of thinking again, damn it!
Well, Iím certainly not going to drive myself even more batty by sitting here contemplating a world of Ďwhat ifs,í especially when this Herbology essay isnít going to write itself. Still, I canít help but be just a bit miffed at his timing if Harry has indeed decided to fancy me. Why did he have to wait until I was with Dean? I suppose thereís no sense in worrying about it either way. After all, itís not as if he actually hugged me, or anything else that obvious.
Okay, Iím definitely losing my mind. Just when I had myself utterly convinced that I was imagining Harryís supposed interest in me, he hugged me. What is he on about? It was right after the Slytherin match about a month ago. As soon as I saw Harry catch the snitch, I shot off towards the commentatorís podium to give that pompous arse a piece of my mind. Well, I ended up giving Smith more like a few pieces of wood from the stands instead, but I think he still understood my meaning. I was so pleased with myself that I didnít get a chance to register that Harry was squeezing me tightly before he quickly let go, evidently embarrassed. Itís a testament to the pervasiveness of the post-win euphoria that Ron didnít even notice our quick embrace. For once, the great oaf kept his tactless pie-hole shut.
Iíve come to accept that Harry is the king of ambiguity. Yes, he hugged me, but can I really assume that it meant anything other than Ďwell done for putting rat-boy Smith in his placeí? Although, as if that wasnít enough, during the few weeks following the game, Iíve caught him staring a few times. At least, I think he was; perhaps he was just staring off into space, trying to forget that his two best mates are at each otherís throats yet again, and I happened to be in the way. I canít tell. Like I said, he is the king of ambiguityÖ or at least a knight or a duke or something. Part of me wishes he would just cock up and accidentally do something so I would know either way. The other part just isnít sure that I really want to know. Harry Potter can just keep his little whims to himself, thank you.
Luna told me a few days before Slughornís Christmas party that Harry had invited her. I was happy for Luna, really I was. I was also happy that Harry decided to go, Hermione too of course, so I got to see them both there. I know that Harry doesnít fancy Luna; she even told me that he wanted to go just as friends. Harry surprises me more and more these days. Ron was right; he really could have taken just about any girl he wanted as his date. Heís not afraid or embarrassed to be friends with Luna, or to invite her to a gathering as his guest. Like me, he sees that despite the fact that she really does believe all of those ridiculous things in her fatherís rag, sheís kind, caring, and has a knack for saying things truthfully when others would pull punches.
So, if there wasnít anyone available that he wanted to invite to the party as a date, I suppose that means itís still possible that he fancies me. Once again, I must extract myself from the murky realm of possibilities. If I donít stop this dangerous train of thought, I might have a total relapse. Iím over him! Well, I certainly gave up on him ever fancying me back, thatís for sure. And Iíve definitely made some serious progress towards getting over him completely. Iíve got Dean, and I know for certain he fancies me so bugger off, Potter! Speaking of the boyfriend, I had better go say goodbye and Happy Christmas before we both leave for the holidays.
I think Iíve really lost it this time. What little sanity I had left has now taken an express owl to parts unknown. Why does he have to be so wonderful, so sweet, and so good? Damn him! If he was just an absolute tosser (though he came awfully close last year) things would be so much simpler. Then I wouldnít feel sick every time I compare Dean against him. Try as I might, I canít be annoyed at him because I know itís my own fault. Iíve got not business comparing them; Harry is just a friend. Really.
I suppose it began when he was staying with us for Christmas. I found myself using just about any excuse to touch him in some innocent way. I even removed a maggot from his hair, for crying out loud! Though, I can say that I also did it to gross-out Phlegm, and it worked. I thought for sure he would realize what I was doing. Every time I patted his arm, touched his hand, smacked his head, or punched his leg I got to watch his reaction. And he did react every single time. What did I care if my touch gave him goose bumps, or made him take a sharp breath or get all fidgety? Iím ashamed to say it mustíve just been some sort of sick fascination I had.
When Percy and Scrimgeour came to ruin our Christmas dinner, it made me realize just how much a part of our family Harry has become. The two great big idiots left and Mum turned to each of us, including Harry, for comfort. I admit to being a bit surprised when he let her hug him and fuss over him without it being too awkward. He even made her laugh and let go of her worries a bit, a task thatís usually left to one of the twins. At this point, I think I began to realize that no matter what, Harry would always have a place in each of our hearts.
I canít explain it, but when we came back from the Christmas holidays I felt more than a little annoyed. I donít know what I was really annoyed at, but I do know that I took it out on Dean. It seemed like everything he did just grated on my nerves. I thought maybe some space would be in order, so for a few months I told him I needed to concentrate on my O.W.L. studies. We saw each other twice a week at the most and our physical relationship slowed down quite a bit as well. For some reason, I just wasnít particularly interested in snogging Dean anymore. He wasnít very happy about this, but agreed that just cuddling sometimes would be okay. That certainly didnít stop him from trying to engage me otherwise about every other week.
Then Ron was poisoned, and unfortunately for Dean, I was too preoccupied with worry to pay him any attention for a while. Once again, Harry Potter was the saviour of the Weasleys. As much as we fight, I do love Ron and I felt ill at the thought of him almost dying. I remembered a similar feeling from when Dad was in St. Mungoís last year, and not for the first time I felt like I knew a little bit of what they all must have gone through when I was taken into the Chamber. Intriguing ideas of how to show my appreciation to Harry for saving my brother came unbidden to my traitorous mind. I was sure Dean would not have approved, not that I was planning on sharing those particular thoughts with him.
As bad as I felt about Ronís brush with death, I almost think I felt worse when during todayís match Harry took a bludger to the skull, courtesy of our prat of a reserve keeper. Of course, I didnít have to witness Ron almost dying; I only found out how serious it had been after he was on the road to recovery. But I heard the crack and saw Harry plummet to the pitch below. I canít even recall what happened after he was taken out of the stadium, until Luna announced that the Hufflepuff Seeker had caught the snitch and the game was over. After I had called McLaggen every foul name I could think of, insulted his forefathers, made disparaging implications about his mother, instructed him as to where he could painfully insert large objects, and explained to him my opinion of his more sensitive bits and the future peril that awaited them, I started to head to the hospital wing to check on Harry. I got sidetracked. Most of Gryffindor had heard my little tirade, including Dean, and were laughing. Unfortunately, Dean then made a tactless comment about how humorous it was to see McLaggen unwittingly send that bludger right into Harry. I angrily informed him that I failed to see the humour in losing when we could have easily beaten Hufflepuff if Harry had been able to finish the match. Then I called him a few of the names I had just used to describe McLaggen. Iím sure he thinks I overreacted, but I honestly donít care.
So here I am, staring at an unconscious Harry and occasionally chatting with Ron in the next bed. My mind is a jumble of thoughts right now. I surprised myself today with the strong reaction I had to Harry getting injured. Why am I so upset? I must be mad. Quidditch injuries happen all the time; Iíve certainly had my fair share. It just feels wrong to see Harry lying there hurting. Why does he have to be so good, so brave, soÖ.. Harry? Why donít I see those same things in Dean? I must just not be looking hard enough. Dean is a great guy most of the time, when heís not cracking jokes about people getting cracked in the head by bludgers.
Iíve either gone completely barmy, or Iím in the middle of one insanely wonderful dream.
I certainly wouldnít be here if I hadnít finally ended things with Dean. It was a long time coming, but pushing me through the portrait hole was the straw that broke the camelís back. Iím not sure why, but I felt so relieved when it was over that I became even more animated than I normally am. It was as if someone had cut the strings that were holding me down, and suddenly I was zooming around the sky in every direction. I decided to make it my mission to make Harry laugh at least once a day. Seeing a genuine smile directed my way was more than worth making a fool out of myself. He started waiting for me after practice so that we could walk back up to school together, but I suspect it wasnít even a conscious decision on his part. It did annoy Dean, however, who kept trying to get me alone presumably to try and patch things up between us.
When Harry told the team earlier this week that he had detention and would miss the final match of the season, we were all shocked. My initial reaction was to be furious with him, but my anger soon melted. Yes, it was pretty stupid of him to use a dangerous unknown spell on Malfoy. But I know that Harry realized he had made a huge mistake and felt horrible about it. Hell, I reckon he even felt guilty for injuring Malfoy so badly, which is more than I could say. I was content to let his own disappointment at missing the final match be punishment enough. It had nothing to do with being unable to bear that pitiful dejected look on his face, I swear. Hermione, however, had other ideas and proceeded to berate him for continuing to read the Princeís notes. I couldnít stop myself from telling her to give it a rest. Honestly, sometimes she can be a right pain in the arse but Harryís too nice to say anything. Well, Iím not.
After Harry had set off for his detention today, I vowed that we would win for himÖ and also to spite Snape, the greasy git. The point spread we needed to win the cup was impossible; we all knew it would be nothing short of a miracle if we pulled it off. I, at least, was willing to die trying. I had to distract Cho at least three times during the match, lest she force us to fight for the snitch before we had the goal difference we needed. Not that it was terribly difficult to distract her; that girl has the attention span of a gnat. Then after two tense hours, our chasers finally managed the spread and I began to search for the snitch in earnest. It didnít take long before I spotted it, lo and behold, just behind Choís right shoulder. As nonchalantly as possible, I flew in her general direction and plucked the snitch once again from right under her nose.
The team was carried by the momentum of all of Gryffindor back to the tower to begin the obligatory celebration. I felt so proud that we had managed to come back against impossible odds to win the cup. The only thing that would have made it better was if Harry had been able to share it with us. In a way, though, as captain he did share in our victory even though he hadnít been able to play. When the common room spontaneously erupted in cheers, I knew that Harry had just come in through the portrait hole. How did I know as he scanned the crowd that he was looking for me? What in the world possessed me to run into his arms? At that point I didnít care, because as soon as I did that Harry kissed me. In fact, heís still kissing me. Thatís how I know it wasnít just a Ďnice job, Ginnyí kissÖ that wouldnít last nearly this long. Nor would that involve Harryís tongue, but this most certainly does. Yes, this is definitely a ĎGinny, Iíve fancied you all year and this is brilliantí sort of kiss. Surprisingly, I donít mind at all.