Ginny Weasley and the Red Shoes

Chapter Three – The Dance Club

The allure of Quidditch aside, I probably would have chosen the Dance Club. I have always been curious about dancing, particularly the Muggle kind, ever since I was six and saw a strange item among the things in the shed (which, I suppose, is saying something).

The object in question was flat and square, with an oddly grooved black disc inside. On the outside was a lady wearing strangely ripped robes – a Muggle dress, I found out later – with wildly colored hair. She appeared to be singing – or maybe she was just scowling; it’s so difficult to tell with Muggle photographs – and twisting her body in a way I’d never seen any of my relatives do at one of our family gatherings.

It looked interesting, but I knew better than to ask: Dad would have been overly encouraged, Mum disapproving, the twins would make fun, and Ron would have killed me. But I always wondered, just the same. I even practiced mimicking the lady in the privacy of my bedroom a few times. This would come back later to haunt me at the wedding of Mum’s third cousin Sarah, but at the time I didn’t know better. I was only having fun. And my attraction never faded.

So one week later I walk with Colin into a large room on one of the upper floors of the castle. Though not nearly as grand as the Great Hall, it’s wide and spacious, with mirrors lining the walls and an open balcony facing the lake. I’m impressed; it’s a room like I’ve always wished to live in – endless space and light. Many people are already inside from every house, and I notice that a lot of students are fourth years or younger. I suppose this may be in part because most of our class couldn’t attend last year’s Yule Ball. Honestly, they didn’t miss anything.

No, I take that back – Neville was nothing but nice to me, and I really was lucky to be able to go, even if I did limp for nearly a week afterwards. And it wasn’t at all Neville’s fault that I didn’t really enjoy myself. In truth there was a brief period when I had actually been looking forward to it. If only…

When I first found out about the Ball, I couldn’t believe Mum had actually bought me dress robes – like she expected me to go! Mum, I wrote to her later that night, only fourth years and older can go; you’ll have to send my robes back. Her helpful reply? Nonsense, dear! You never know, someone may ask.

And so I spent the next month in some kind of wretched state, wondering if I even dared to hope for the impossible. There was only one person I wanted to ask me, but I knew that would never happen. And who above the third year even noticed me? So I bided my time by listening to what everyone else was planning, what they were wearing, who was asking whom out. And I knew about all the girls who were after Harry – it was hard to avoid, when everyone my class kept talking about it.

Still, I had a perverse pleasure in knowing that even with all those girls throwing themselves at him, Harry didn’t have a partner. And when weeks went by and he still didn’t ask anyone, it actually consoled me to think that perhaps there was no one he really liked after all – or liked well enough to take to the Ball, at least. I knew along with everyone else that he would have to take someone, but there’s a world of difference between taking someone and having to.

Because of this I had been mentally prepared, more or less, right up to the day that Neville asked me to go with him. By then it was getting so late that I had already resigned myself to not going. I was not even offended that he’d just been turned down by Hermione. It would be, I knew, my only chance to go, and Neville looked so forlorn when he came to me that I almost smiled – that he should be desperate to go with me was too much. I felt that it would probably be all right. Neville was a nice person and would be a good escort. I could wear my dress robes; it wouldn’t be a waste of money after all. I’d be one of the few younger students who actually went. The Weird Sisters would be there, I’d get to dance, stay up late, feel grown up… this might actually be a lot of fun.

If only it hadn’t been for that stupid bit with Harry at the very end –

Ah, but that was last year.

Colin and I stand off to the side among a group of our housemates as Professor Sinistra enters the room. To our great surprise she isn’t wearing her usual teaching robes but rather something that looks like Muggle clothing. We exchange silent glances as she calls us to attention.

“To many people dance is merely a mechanical process. Little do they realize that dance is also a physical representation of emotions – one’s feelings, one’s motivations, one’s innermost desires. The dancer’s heart and soul is as much responsible for guiding their steps as their mind and muscles. By the end of the year it is my hope that you will come to appreciate and harness this expressive energy.”

I can hear someone tittering nearby but I ignore them. I’m somewhat intrigued by what Sinistra is saying.

“Now, as I’m sure many of you are beginners, we will begin with some basic steps – everyone, partner up and we will start with the warm up exercises…”

There is murmur of excitement as we pair up, and I watch a lone Hufflepuff with curly hair craning her head around the room. I know her because of her infatuation with Harry – she was one of the girls who had actually asked him out to the Ball. I allow myself an ironic smile. To think: we’re rivals and she doesn’t even know it.

Movement to my left draws my attention, and I see Neville Longbottom passing nearby looking around for a partner. Colin and I have already agreed to stay together, which is a lucky thing for me as I couldn’t have refused Neville if he asked. No, I wouldn’t do that to him. He’s such a gentleman in so many ways. If only he could dance…

My mind wanders as we go through the warm up. Then Professor Sinistra’s voice rings out to direct us into the first position, bringing me back to the task at hand.

“Shall we?”

Colin holds out his arm jauntily and I can’t help giggling as I take it. He’s so earnest that sometimes he’s a bit goofy, but he’s such a nice person that for the most part we get along quite well. We move into position, Colin’s hand on my waist and mine on his shoulder, and I look him square in the eyes. Our birthdays aren’t very far apart, but Colin’s still a bit small for his age – we’re nearly the same height and build. But it probably makes him the perfect dance partner for me.

“Er, Ginny? Which foot did she say we start off with?”

Well, almost.