Ginny Weasley and the Red Shoes

Chapter Nine – Skirmishes

I’m standing next to Colin among a group of people waiting outside the dance room. I can see him giving me sidelong glances out of the corner of my eye, but I’m avoiding making eye contact. It’s not really like me, but I’m afraid he’s going to bring up the subject of our dance if I give him an opening and I’m still not sure what to tell him, much less anyone else. Which is turning into a bit of a challenge, given that the topic du jour is the Revue.

In truth I’ve been feeling ill all day. Right now what I’d really like is to go back up to my room and sleep. But I don’t feel right about skipping out on Colin, and what’s more… I just don’t want to miss the class.

So I play it safe by querying my companions and listening attentively to the answers; besides, I’m curious to learn more about everyone who made the cut off list. And I find it’s much easier asking after other people than talking about myself.

“So Lee Jordan is also representing Gryffindor? Excellent! Do you know what he’s going to do?”

“I overheard him telling the Weasleys that he wants to do a stand-up bit. And there’s rumors going ‘round that Fawcett plans on pulling some loony stunt – sawing herself in half on stage without the use of magic.”

“Come off it – and how is she supposed to do that?”

“Dunno. Claims she’s going to use ‘Muggle’ magic.”

“… But aren’t Ravenclaws supposed to be the smart ones?”

While the others start to lay odds on the success of Fawcett’s act, one of the girls leans in towards me.

“By the way, Ginny… I heard that Pansy Parkinson is going to do a dance number, too.”

“Lovely,” I murmur. I discretely glance over my shoulder to where a shrill voice is holding court near the top of the stairwell, with her face scrunched up mimicking somebody. Bloody lovely.

Pansy’s not what you’d call a classic beauty – it’s the fault of her nose, which is snub and makes her face look squashed – but even so she’s nice enough looking when she dresses up. But it’s not her looks that set her apart from her Slytherin groupies (though in several cases that alone would be enough): it’s her attitude. She carries herself like a queen. A mean-spirited, waspish, treacherous, Evil-Stepmother-In-Waiting type queen, but regal nonetheless. And on top of all that, she’s got a thing for Draco.

Just thinking about it makes me shudder.

Naturally, we avoid each other, but it’s not overt hostility. Hermione is Pansy’s one true target. In her eyes I barely even rate the backwash, which, I might add, doesn’t bother me in the slightest. As I watch her gossiping with her friends, I make a mental note to steer clear of her during class from now on. I hate to say it, but I can’t put it past her to try something.

“… for Hufflepuff. Speaking of which, did you know that Eloise Midgen showed up at the tryouts?”

“Midgen? Are you serious?”

“Come on, you’re having us on.”

“No, it’s true! I saw her entering the room myself.”

The reason for our surprise is due to Eloise’s notorious reputation. She’s been partnering with Neville since our first meeting, and together they’re responsible for causing the most floor collisions. Some spectacularly embarrassing. I honestly didn’t expect that she would try out by herself, but I guess that just shows me not to judge a book by its cover. And if Eloise isn’t letting her history stop her, then why am I…?

“She didn’t try to dance, but I heard she tried to sing. Still didn’t make the cut off list, though.”

“Well, good for her, at least she tried!” I say, and I mean it wholeheartedly. I give myself a mental pinch: I’ve only been letting the excitement of making the Revue get to me, that’s all. I’m starting to feel much better about the whole thing when I hear the girl herself, panting up the long staircase towards us.

Now, Eloise is about the nicest person you could ever hope to meet. Unfortunately, it is her sad misfortune to be saddled with some singularly bad luck for a teenaged girl. One is a persistent case of acne, which has made her the brunt of cruel teasing and driven her to extraordinary lengths for a cure. The second is a lack of coordination, which as mentioned before has been the cause of much personal humiliation. The third of Eloise’s distinguishing characteristics is that she’s often running late for class.

Today is no exception. I’m on the verge of calling out a greeting to her when, to my horror, Eloise has an “episode.” Somehow missing the top step, she stumbles. Stretching out her hands to keep from falling, she collides with the group of Slytherins and manages to latch on to somebody’s robes. A loud rip echoes in the hallway. I can feel the collective intake of breath around me following this scene.

“Let go of me!” shrieks Pansy.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, I was just afraid of being late –”

“Just – Get – Away – From – Me!”

Pansy shoves Eloise violently away from her. It’s a mistake, as Eloise still has a firm grip on the robes. Everybody cringes: not even a tailor would bother wasting time trying to mend the resulting tear.

“Oh no!” squeaks Eloise, staring fearfully as Pansy’s face actually goes white with rage.

“Y-you… you… YOU CLUMSY OAF, LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE! IT’S RUINED!”

“Please, I’m so sorry! I’ll fix it, I promise –”

“Oh, yes, as if I’d ever be stupid enough to let a moronic klutz like you try! I wouldn’t want it fixed back as crooked as that botched nose job of yours!”

I watch Eloise’s face start to crumple and I feel myself boil over. I don’t really consider myself a hot head, certainly not like some members of my family, but sometimes I can’t keep my tongue from flying ahead of my brain. And nothing makes me angrier faster than watching someone else get picked on – especially by a person like Miss Pug Face. I’m speaking before I realize it.

“I expect you would be the authority on that, Parkinson, seeing as how your own needs the help of an expert.”

My words are followed by a hush so profound I can hear the armor suits rattling at the base of the stairs.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hearing as well, I see.”

Her eyes flash with such malevolence that I instinctively reach for my wand before remembering that no one ever brings one to dance. She starts to advance on me, but I stay put. I refuse to be cowed by a bully like her, and Pansy seems to realize it as she finally comes to a stop just outside of my striking distance. She regards me threateningly for a moment, and then suddenly her scowl twists into a sneer.

“And what would a speckle-faced, frumpy little fool like you know?” Her gaze flicks contemptuously over me before leaning in to hiss nastily, “You poorhouse scavenger!”

I hear someone gasp. I hold my ground, but only just. That cuts a lot more than I expected. But before I can say anything back, I’m aware of Colin standing next to me.

“Only a worthless snob like you would care about a thing like that!”

Pansy doesn’t miss a beat as she pivots to glare back at Colin. Her face seems to swell with rage, as she spits out her next words:

“And what’s this – did Harry Potter give you the night off? Or are you just trying to get in closer with your idol by chaperoning his best friend’s sister?”

Colin flushes an alarming shade of purple. His reaction shocks me; I don’t think it’s that deep of an insult. But I still feel indignant on his behalf, and touched by his earlier defense. He’s too much of a gentleman to ever hit a girl – even a smug one, gloating openly at the effect of her palpable hit. I, on the other hand –

“MAY I REMIND YOU THAT THIS IS A DANCING CLUB, NOT A DUELING ONE,” rings out Professor Sinistra’s voice as she comes up the stairs behind us. Everybody freezes, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.

“Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each, Miss Weasley, Mr. Creevey and Miss Parkinson, for fighting in the hallways. Get inside everyone. We’re about to begin.”

Everyone starts to file into the room after Sinistra, and I’m only too eager to follow. As I start to move past Pansy, however, she suddenly steps in my way. Her voice drips with poison.

“I see your taste in men continues to decline, Weasley. But then again I think it rather suits you – at least you’re finally aiming within your range.”

Flashing me a look like I’m a bug she’d sooner not deign to step on, she flounces on by me into the room.

I swear, she must be taking lessons from Draco!