Ginny Weasley and the Red Shoes

Chapter 12 - Brotherly Advice

The Dance Club group tryout is set for the middle of the following week in front of the class. I've come to see it as a competition between Parkinson and myself, so after the incident in the library, I'm being very careful to be completely amenable to any suggestion put forth by the others. A good thing, as the next day we set to work immediately on Eloise's plan.

We're practicing in an unused classroom on one of the upper floors of the castle. True to her word, Eloise has a whole routine worked out and wants us to use a modern form of dancing, which currently seems to be popular in the Muggle world. The piece isn't very long, starting with the part where Karen is cursed and begins to dance. Eloise claims this will be enough for our audition; I privately feel it has more to do with my fuss over the axe. Regardless, it's plenty for Colin and me to learn in a matter of days - no more free time between now and the tryout. That first night we're up so late we accidentally miss the curfew and have a harrowing jaunt through the corridors, avoiding Filch and Peeves as we make for our respective common rooms. And the next day we're at it again.

The weekend arrives and, to my mind, passes in blur of endless repetition. For all her lack of coordination, Eloise has a good eye and proves surprisingly patient, working to redirect our missteps which thankfully become less frequent. Neville, too, joins our group as something of a silent cheerleader. By Monday Colin and I are in good spirits - we're starting to believe that we won't make complete prats of ourselves, though I can't fool myself and say that we're brilliant. More to my surprise, I'm actually starting to have fun.

How has this happened? Somehow in the past few days I've gotten over my dislike for the story. Perhaps it's because I can sympathize with the heroine, Karen, just a bit. She is poor, after all, and I can certainly understand that. I know what it's like to yearn for something bright and new and beautiful; that belongs to you alone and that you can never have.

I suddenly think of Harry.

I smile. Harry is no pair of red shoes to me. But seriously, poor or not, I can't imagine valuing a thing over another person, especially one's friends and family. On this point I don't understand Karen at all...

But then, it was enchanted.

I'm not liking this train of thought. Karen's downfall, I remind myself firmly, is that she was vain, a trait which immediately summons Pansy Parkinson to my mind. This in turn drives any other errant thoughts away, as I focus on the real goal behind all this effort: beating that scheming cow come Wednesday.

And I don't need a pair of magic slippers to do that.

*****

That night when I climb into the Gryffindor common room, I'm so worn out that I drag myself over to the fireplace and collapse unceremoniously into a chair. I'm debating whether it's worth the effort to climb the stairs to my dormitory when I hear a disapproving cluck come from somewhere over my shoulder.

"Not a very attractive pose for a girl your age, Ginny, affecting an old lady dozing by the fire."

"Shut it, George," I say grumpily, not much in the mood for brotherly teasing.

"Oi, nice mouth," says Fred. "It seems we're not wanted, George. Well, no matter." He gives me an annoying pat on the head. "Ickle Ginnykins needs her bed rest, so let's leave her to it."

The prats leave laughing and I'm too tired to hex them right now. It'll have to wait for tomorrow. I've just about summoned enough energy to move myself again when another familiar voice breaks in.

"All right, Ginny?" asks Ron. I crack open an eye to see him watching me from a nearby chair.

"Nothing a week of uninterrupted sleep couldn't cure," I manage to mumble. I expect him to make a smart remark to that, but instead he frowns.

"You're always tired and busy these days, and it's not even your O.W.L. year. I don't get it, Ginny. Do you really like your club that much? Why dancing?"

It figures. Over the last few weeks I'd forgotten all about wanting to make him and the twins take my interests seriously for once. And now that Ron is expressing real curiosity, I'm too tired to care.

"I don't know... why Quidditch, Ron?" I throw back at him.

The look he sends me is half incredulous that I can ask something so thick, and half confused for much the same reason.

"It's Quidditch. It's only the best... the most exhili... just fanta... It's Quidditch," he sputters out, at a loss for sufficient words.

"And there you are," I reply coolly.

Ron falls quiet, and I can see he's thinking about that. I finally find the strength to stand up. As I start to move towards the stairs, Ron stops me.

"Okay, I get that, but... are you sure there isn't more to it?"

The question startles me enough that I pause to look at him askance. "What do you mean by that?"

"Hey, it's all right if it means that much to you... just don't get so wrapped up in it you make yourself sick, you know?"

"Tuh, Ron..." I mutter, somewhat annoyed by this unexpected mothering.

Unfazed, he fixes me with an unexpectedly serious look. "Gin, all I'm saying is you know you can come to me whenever something's bothering you, right?"

Once again I'm brought to a halt, this time by a warm feeling filling my insides.

"Yes, Ron." I flash him a smile. Sometimes he's such a wonderful, lovely, dear brother...

"It's not a guy, is it?" he suddenly asks, frowning suspiciously.

Oh, brother.