The Slimmest, Wildest Chance

Let Nothing You Dismay

Ginny slugged the last of her butterbeer morosely - she was so tired. And it didn't help matters that Harry Potter, he of the apparently non-existent learning abilities, had been acting strange all evening.

She hadn't even wanted to stay up on New Year's Eve - she was tired, she had twisted her wrist playing quidditch, and her bed had looked awfully tempting between the warm red covers and Desdemona curled up at its foot. But Harry had insisted - he had said all kinds of things about how next year they wouldn't be able to spend New Year's Eve together, and how she was the only person he wanted to be with tonight, and all kinds of rubbish.

So eventually, like the poor fool that she was, Ginny had given in. Well, not only had she given in, she had run down to the kitchens and found butterbeer, and a slice of treacle tart for Harry (he claimed it was his favourite) and chocolate for herself. Everything should have been perfect - they had even managed to keep one of the small alcoves in the common room for themselves all evening, but Harry, as usual, had made a mess of it.

She didn't know what was the matter with him. He had spent so long convincing her that she just had to spend New Year's Eve, and yet, now he sat on his chair, staring into his butterbeer and not saying a word.

They were sitting together on a small sofa, so small in fact that they were rather squashed together. Ginny liked to think of it as 'their' spot, though in fact they had only had three or four conversations there. She also thought she knew what everyone thought they were doing in there, as Seamus had hollered something rather crude at Dean earlier on the evening, (Hermione, bless her, had immediately jumped to her defence, and had told Seamus, at wandpoint, to shut up.)

But Harry had ignored those comments, and certainly hadn't attempted to actually kiss her. He sat beside her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding his butterbeer, or ever so often tugging at a lock of her hair. Yet through all of this he had barely spoken a word, responding with the ghost of a smile to anything she said. Ginny hated to see that smile, that thin, narrow, lifeless smile - it had no right to be on Harry Potter's face. If there was one thing she loved about him, and there wasn't, there were thousands, it was how intensely alive he could be.

Not like Ron or Fred and George - who had something of that same quality, she had to admit. With Harry there was no bluster, no waste of energy, just pure feeling. It was one of the reasons she had always loved to see him fly - no one could ever express the sheer joy he felt simply by flying a broomstick.

But Harry wasn't feeling anything that could even touch the bliss Ginny had sometimes seen in his face now. He was all shadows, melting into each other, his eyes veiled beneath them - still amazingly beautiful, but not happy. And if there was one thing in the world Ginny wanted, it was to see Harry happy. The way he ought to be.

Not that she wasn't absolutely furious with him.

She was so confused. Until this evening she had been fairly certain that, well, yes Harry must fancy her. Nothing else made sense.

But now, - Ginny felt a horrible twisting in her gut, and laid her head on his shoulder so that he wouldn't be able to see her face - now she had become almost as convinced of something else.

Maybe he didn't fancy her. What other possible explanation could there be? They had been sitting, alone, in a shady alcove, on New Year's Eve, for two and a half hours, and he hadn't even tried to kiss her. At all. Not even once.

Ginny felt a tear slide out of one eye. Maybe he just didn't find her attractive - or maybe he was doing Ron a favour, making sure no other boy could get near. What other possible explanation could there be? Boys were supposed to want to kiss girls - they weren't supposed to do what Harry was doing.

She didn't know why he would do that to her, didn't know how could possibly be so irredeemably dense as not to know that she...loved him, and that it was cruel to toy with her like this, but if that was the case, knowing Harry, it could only be from the very best of intentions.

Still, enough was enough. Ginny couldn't stand it any longer - he was making her want to jump out of her skin. She, Ginny Weasley, was not a silly little girl, and she, Ginny Weasley, was not going to be jerked around like a puppet on a string. It was time to teach him a lesson, and though it would, she hoped, be as unpleasant as a Bat Bogey Hex, it would have at least as much of an impact.

Harry was staring out of the window, and Ginny swiftly wiped her one tear off her face. "Harry," she said.

He managed to turn around to face her. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to bed."

He looked astonished, and Ginny thought he wanted to ask to wait a little longer - but he didn't. Screwing up her courage (and it was quite an effort, her legs were actually trembling) she touched his chin, and, ignoring the fact that he was blinking owlishly at her, stretched up to kiss him.

He was more than a head taller than her, so it wasn't exactly easy, and Ginny's hands were sweaty, and her stomach was spinning with nerves, and the kiss didn't last that long, and it was soft, two sets of lips bumping gently, and Harry's hand was on the bare skin of her arm, his fingers moving ever so slightly, and it only lasted for a heartbeat, but it was rich...

Ginny pulled away from him. Maybe, oh just maybe, her gamble had paid off. It couldn't have felt so wonderful to her, and not have...stirred something in him, could it?

He was staring at her. Ginny shrank away from the look in his eyes, and he tightened his hold on her arm - she had never seen him look quite like this before.

"Ginny...what?"

She stared at him, wishing that he would just...say something - she could have screamed at him not to leave her in this dreadful limbo, because she couldn't, she couldn't bear it. But Harry only raised her chin with one hand and looked into her eyes. He took a deep breath, leaned a little closer, and suddenly Ginny knew what was coming next, knew what he was nerving himself to say, and she knew she wouldn't be able to stand it, so she shoved away from him and stood up quickly.

But Harry managed to keep hold of her wrist, and so she had to turn to face him. She was trembling all over, partly from the effort of restraining tears, but she managed to say, "I'm really sorry Harry."

"What? Ginny?"

"I just thought...I thought it was okay...I'm sorry. Goodnight."

And with that she turned and sprinted for the girls' dormitories - as she turned into the stairs she caught a glimpse of Harry's face. He looked as though he were torn between shock and upset, and Ginny realised once more, and all the more crushingly, that he really didn't fancy her.

Five minutes later she lay in her bed, cuddling a small black kitten and sobbing into her pillow.