Cantus Inaequalis

~ Cantus Inaequalis ~

Throughout Ginny Weasley's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry she attracted attention. Not the kind every young lady dreams about, the kind that involves meaningful looks, playful snogs in the nearest broom cupboard, firm grasps of a thigh hidden beneath the mandatory grey school skirt whilst passing in musty stone corridors. But attention nonetheless. From one particular schoolboy. A schoolboy with forest green eyes, uncontrollable hair the colour of coal, and a distinct, tangible ruthlessness about him.

To be quite honest, Ginny thought, it was rather unnerving the looks he sent her way, looks that no-one was meant to see, maybe not even herself. The looks that came from the fathomless eyes sent a tingle down her spine finishing with a single contraction of her stomach. This sensation propelled a wave of nausea to wash over her, leaving her sweaty, breathless and (to anyone observing her) pale. The worst thing was, she didn't know why his gaze made her feel like that. She knew she'd risen above her lengthy crush. There was nothing there anymore. No hero-worship. No need for slack-jawed staring. I gave myself a kick up the arse and it did me wonders, she thought defiantly, I'm not going to undo all that work because he can't keep his eyes to himself, arrogant git. Though the silent insult was not as firm as she'd liked it to be.

There was something calmer about Harry this year. The snarling sentences and harsh expressions had been left behind with his fifth year. Along with the remnants of his innocence. A proper tortured hero now, aren't you? she thought spitefully at this boy. This boy who was sharing the common room with her. This boy who was currently sending her an amused glance from beneath his dark lashes, as if he knew what she was thinking at him. Her brother seemed too involved in gazing at her bushy-haired friend to notice who Harry's attention was focused upon. Ginny lifted her pale chin ever so slightly and turned her gaze towards Neville who was trying to explain the exact properties of a Mimbulus mimbletonia and what use it could be to a certain Healer's research.

"I mean, if he'd only reply to the Owls I've been sending him, I'm sure it would advance his research quite a bit. Right?" he asked her.

She gave a noncommittal "Mmm" and settled back into her foggy thoughts. Her response must have been satisfactory to Neville as he continued his train of conversation.

She could have sworn that Harry's gaze had just become slightly more amused. Though she couldn't see him. She imagined him cocking one dark eyebrow, his left, towards her in mirthful curiosity. As if he knew why she wasn't paying attention to Neville, the kind boy who had been by her side on that day in June when they had all crusaded to rescue Sirius Black from the clutches of You-Know-Who. She felt that stupid tingle again and braced herself for that feeling of sickness to invade her senses. She gave a slight shudder and whipped her head around to the scarlet armchair by the fireplace where Harry had previously been.

Only he wasn't there. She had turned her head just in time to see the portrait close gently with an audible click in the quiet common room.

***

Her dreams that night were filled with the eyes of death, the green wind that ripped souls from their bodies, a boy with dark hair that owned not an emerald gaze but one of sapphire. A gaze that flattered her with love and promised unwanted truth.

With the feeble, dove grey light that brought the morning Ginny woke, finding her royal blue flannel pyjamas wet with cold sweat. Cold sweat that still lingered at the back of her neck.

***

When she was younger she used to write all her thoughts down in a diary. Everyday thoughts, childhood dreams. Now she kept all her thoughts where they should be: in her head. She had to admit that it wasn't as satisfying as seeing your feelings in front of you, black ink scratched on yellowing parchment. A distinct pleasure used to come from the scrape of the nib going against the grain of it. Still does actually, when she's in class.

The best way for Ginny to think was to be alone. Alone with only the vast midnight sky above her. It made her feel insignificant and therefore it didn't matter what she thought, it couldn't hurt anybody. Unfortunately, if she went on the grounds there was always the risk of running into someone, usually from an impromptu Quidditch practice. So she had to stay in the castle. To see the sky from the castle? Well, not for the life of her was she venturing up to the Astronomy Tower. Bloody snogging hormone-high prats, she thought. So she always went to the West Tower. Exactly the same as the Astronomy tower sans the mauling couples.

As she heard her footsteps echo up the winding stone staircase that led to her Tower, she felt a tingle down her spine.

Yeah. That tingle.

She span around on the narrow step she had come to and put out a small hand on the wall to stop the motion. A thin strand of straight Weasley-red hair caught on her eyelashes. She impatiently blew it away without moving her hands. Without moving anything. She was paralysed.

She couldn't see him.

She knew where that sensation in her body had come from and yet... nothing. Just a torch-lit staircase. She tried to move her right leg and succeeded in moving it so it scuffed the edge of the step. Slowly, statically, she turned her body towards the top of the stairs keeping her eyes on the empty steps below her. Unfortunately as she didn't have the same skeletal neck structure as Pig or Errol she had to reluctantly bring her head around to see the end of the staircase in sight.

She carried on up towards the twinkling sky that she knew was there.

***

The next time Ginny climbed that staircase was five days later after a trying Thursday. Her head ached at her temples and behind her eyes, her mind was cloudy with the many conversations she'd had that day. She imagined pulling a plug, letting the confusion and impatience of the day slug slowly down, down, out of her head.

She opened the steel-enforced oak door that led to the classroom of the West Tower. Like the Astronomy Tower, half of the top floor was a covered classroom leading out to a flagstoned area, exposed to the moon's benevolent light, bathing it in a pearly wash. This is what she expected.

What she didn't expect was Harry Potter, sixth year and defender of all wizard kind, sitting on a desk.

His legs dangled over the top of the wooden table whilst he rested his elbows on his sharp knees. His thin, angular hands left to drop between his legs. Thin shoulders bunched over, dark head lowered towards his clasped hands. As the door shut with an audible click in the deathly quiet classroom, he lifted his eyes to the small figure.

"Alright?" he said with a slight cock of the head, never letting the red head leave his sight. Ginny felt the hairs on her neck stand up, mimicking what the hairs on her arms had done just seconds earlier. The way he was looking at her wasn't right. It made her feel... powerless. A mouse hypnotised by the sway of the cobra's gaze. She couldn't speak.

"Obviously not," he said, answering his own question with a slight raise of his eyebrows. "Let's try another question. I'm not intruding am I?"

In the dark room she could just about see the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. As if he was biting back a smile. Arrogant git, she thought for the second time in less than a week. But this time she thought the insult was perfectly justifiable. She saw a ray of soft moonlight filter through a window, streaking Harry's black hair with the colour of mercury.

She turned her head away from the boy in the middle of the classroom and strode out into the uncovered terrace of the tower. She didn't stop until she had put a considerable distance between them, or the largest distance she could in the limited space. She braced her hands on the cool turrets and looked out upon the silver lake, watching the sporadic ripples dancing across the surface.

"Was it something I said?" laughed a voice in her right ear. How does he do that? He's like a Dementor when he wants to be. All glides and noiseless footsteps. She could feel an intense cold seep through the back of her robes, seep through to her very bones. He's close to me, extremely close. Too close.

"Harry," she sighed, "Did you not get the hint? I don't want you here. I came here so I could be alone, so I could think."

"So think."

He was bloody infuriating sometimes. The chill receded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shift from behind her to lean a hip against the low turret wall. Arms crossed, eyes half closed, impenetrable. His bottle green eyes trained on her profile. Her stomach contracted, knuckles turning white on the wall she grasped as the nausea washed over her.

"I can't think while you're staring at me. Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she said harshly.

Ignoring the last question he said, "Not staring. Observing. Looking for something. Why would you mind me observing you? It's just me. Just Harry." His voice had a slight tilt of mirth to it, as if he was goading her. Wanting her to break underneath his gaze. She met it, challenging him. She suddenly wished her eyes could talk the way his did. With eyes like Harry's nobody would ever need to engage in verbal communication again.

He lifted his left eyebrow, as if he were pleased with the backbone he saw in her. He took in her slightly freckled bottom lip with its soft indentation, her pale neck, the pewter chain around it, her worn robes, her scuffed shoes before returning his gaze to brown eyes. Looking at her as if he was appraising the value of a semi-precious stone. Detached as always.

"What's the matter with you?" she said quietly, daring him to lose the façade, to throw down the veil that separated Ginny from the Harry she knew.

"If it were any of your business I'd tell you what you wanted to hear. Such as 'Nothing's the matter with me'. However the sad reality remains the same. That it isn't any of your business. Sorry about that," he remarked lightly.

"So what are you going to tell me since it's none of my business?"

"Nothing. Don't ask me any more questions. You're annoying when you do that." he uncrossed his arms and placed a hand near hers on the wall. Bitten finger nails, dirt underneath them, cracked skin on the knuckles. As she focused her sight on the larger pale hand she felt his eyes trained on her face, gauging her reaction. He lifted his hand from where he just placed it and turned her chin towards him. "Look at me. Keep your eyes on me."

That feeling of being paralysed had seized her body. That tingle down her spine hadn't gone away since the beginning of the conversation, but now it prompted her stomach to lurch violently. His long fingers had just started to stroke her tense knuckles that still grasped the wall. It made her want to stop clutching it. But... but she feared the pain she would feel after relaxing those muscles after such a long time in tension. The stroking was gentle, methodical, promising relief. She slowly let go of the cold stone with her right hand, balancing herself with the other that was still grasping. She let him turn her by the shoulders so that she was facing him, making sure she hadn't broken the eye contact he demanded. He stepped slightly closer to her, one of his black shoes moving between hers.

Still looking at her, he began to roll up her left sleeve. He patiently rolled the jumper and shirt cuff past her watch, finally leaving it neatly bunched at her elbow. He shifted closer again. His right hand moved her left to face palm up, the delicate skin of her forearm open to his lazy scrutiny. He stroked the pale skin and then spoke softly her.

"Would you let me brand my mark there? Binding you to me? Mind to mind, body to body... soul to soul? Would you?" Entranced, she slowly nodded. "Really? Well, aren't you a good girl? Letting me do what I want with you. Do you think me persuasive? That I can get what I want?" His free hand came to the side of her neck, thumb underneath her chin, tipping it up slightly. He brought her face closer to his, so that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. "You're slipping. Focus. Look at me properly. Do you see me?"

And through the haze of her mind, Ginny knew.

She'd found her Tom.