The Music Box

Chapter One: Ginny’s Gift

Harry woke again with a cold sweat and a searing pain on his forehead. The nightmares had become increasingly worse and more frequent over the past few months, since the death of Arthur Weasley at the Ministry.  

The Ministry had maintained that the death was an accident, but the high-pitched laughing he heard every time he dreamt of the misfortune, suggested otherwise. Harry couldn't help but feel that Voldemort had something to do with it. He only wished he knew for sure, so that he could tell Sirius or Dumbledore. But for now, it was only a suspicion.  

Harry decided that it was no use going back to sleep for a while, so he put on his glasses and robe and got out of bed quietly. He grabbed some parchment, ink and a quill and tiptoed through his dorm, and Neville's snores, downstairs to the common room.             At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. Someone with flaming red hair was sitting alone in front of the fireplace.  

“Ginny?”  

“Oh!” Ginny squeaked as she whipped around. “You scared me Harry!”  

“What are you doing down here?”

Ginny blushed, realizing that she was wearing just her nightgown. “Er, I couldn't sleep, so I came down here. How about you?”  

“Me neither,” Harry said as he rubbed his head in afterthought. “I thought that I would work on some homework I hadn’t finished earlier.”  

Harry didn't know what to really say to her. After all, Ginny had been the most reserved of all the Weasleys since the death of their father. And this was unusual, as she was generally the most passionate of all the Weasley children, and always wore her heart on her sleeve.

Sure, sometimes late at night Harry could hear quiet sobbing coming from Ron in his bed, and even Fred and George had lost their luster for their usual jokes and pranks. But Ginny had never shed a tear. Ron always told him, ‘She's in shock, she acts as though it never happened.’  

Anxiously needing some small talk, Harry noticed that Ginny was holding something in her hand. It was a small wooden box.  

“What do you have there?” he asked, nodding toward the box.  

“Oh, this?” she said, remembering what she was holding. “It's a music box.”             “A music box?” Harry asked as he put down his homework and sat beside Ginny in front of the fireplace.

Harry watched Ginny caress the tiny box. It was oak, with ornately carved flowers and leaves scrolling across the top and sides. Harry thought it must have been quite precious for her to treat it so gently.

The only other music box Harry had ever seen was the one belonging to his Aunt Petunia. It was a gift from his Uncle Vernon when they were young. It was old and scratched, with a faded looking picture of a young girl on it. When opened, its gears were exposed (Dudley had pulled out the plastic ballerina inside and blamed Harry when they were six), and played Aunt Petunia's favorite song out of tune, very different from the one before him now.  

“Yes, my father gave it to me for my birthday last year,” Ginny said, slightly bowing her head just enough for Harry to notice. Recognizing Harry's interest in the box, she continued, “It's enchanted.”

Ginny opened the box. As Harry expected, there was indeed a dancer inside, but he was pleasantly surprised for the dancer had a partner, and they suddenly came to life and gracefully danced atop the mirrored surface like miniature people.

She went on, “Daddy got it from the Ministry archives. When it first came to the Ministry, the girl here was all alone. She had become so bored of dancing all by herself; she decided to go on strike. So anytime her owner opened up the box, she paced back and forth with a picket sign, demanding for a partner to keep her company.”  

Ginny tried hard to hold back a giggle. “Her owner gave up the box to the ministry and they kept it in the archives. Daddy came across it years later and created an ordinance so that she could have a partner and that's when I suppose I got it.”  

Harry gave a laugh as he watched the couple whip around and around in enchanted bliss. The box played a melody that Harry had never heard before. It was strange and yet eerily beautiful at the same time. For a moment, he thought that he had heard it before.

He looked up at Ginny as she stared into the fire thoughtfully. He noticed how her auburn hair swept away from the warm glow the fire gave to her smooth face. The fire danced in the reflection of her brown eyes as she stared into it.  

It was then Harry realized how much Ginny had changed from the girl he always thought of as just Ron's little sister. He had always thought of her as the silly eleven-year-old girl who would gush and run away embarrassed at the sight of him. This same girl had slowly grown up right in front of his eyes and he had never noticed . . . until now.

Noticing his stares, Ginny began to bite her lower lip. She sighed deeply, putting down the music box and turned to him.  

“Ginny,” Harry started, “I never told you how sorry I am about your father.”             “I know,” she said. “He must have been like a father figure to you as well,” she finished as her face began to quiver.  

“Yeah, he was. I can't tell you how much your family means to me–“, Harry stopped as Ginny began to cry.  

“Harry,” Ginny said now as she tried to keep her composure, “It wasn't an accident you know.”

            Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. How did she know?  

            “What?”  

“Daddy's death, it wasn't an accident. Everyone says it was, but it's a lie.” Ginny said, tears streaming down her face now, “I think it was . . .” she whispered, “You-know-who.”

Ginny couldn't hold back anymore, covering her face with her hands and beginning to sob.

Harry's mouth dropped open.

Although his mind was reeling from her statement, Harry grabbed Ginny and held her close to him, without even thinking. She continued to wail, the sound of her cries muffled by his robe. Harry held her tighter. Ginny went on for a few minutes before he spoke again.  

“Ginny, how do you know it was Voldemort?” he asked.

Ginny stopped crying so that she could explain.“Ever since, well, the Chamber of Secrets, I often have dreams of him,” she said with a heavy sigh.  

“Go on,” Harry pleaded.  

“I can see myself in his head, when he does things. I try to stop him, but I can't move. It's like I’m frozen in the chamber again,” she confessed.

Ginny went on, speaking even faster now, “I never told you how scared I was during the last task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The night before, I had a dream you had some sort of battle in a graveyard with him. It was so scary, I tried to stop him from hurting you, but like I said, I couldn't, and he killed you.”  

She held Harry tighter, “And then when you disappeared from the tournament, I thought we would never see you again.”

Ginny began to cry again on his shoulder. Harry could smell the lavender in her hair. It was intoxicating. Harry pushed her shoulders back so that he could look into her eyes.  

“Ginny,” he said, as he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, holding her face in his hands. “Whatever visions past, present or future you may have, he can never be inside your head.”  

Harry touched his finger to her forehead gently and went on. “I have dreams about your dad too, but not everything you dream of comes true.”  

Harry looked deeply into her soft brown eyes. He wanted to protect her from all this pain she was obviously going through. “It's true that I battled Voldemort in the graveyard that night, but I’m still here. I’m not dead,” he smiled, “You can't let him get to you.”  

He leaned over and gently kissed the spot on her forehead where he had touched her. It was then, as he held her tear-stained cheeks, that he realized that even behind such a pure heart, lay a tortured soul, perhaps even more so than his own.

Harry hadn't realized that he was kissing her until his lips had already met hers. Her lips were sweet and warm, and for the moment, he could feel her turmoil wash away.             Ginny finally pulled away from Harry. She looked at him and smiled gently, wiping the last of her tears away. Harry felt slightly embarrassed that he kissed her so suddenly.

“Er, sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s alright, really,” Ginny said, also feeling the awkwardness of the moment.

            Harry didn’t feel a bit awkward though. Curiously enough, it had felt very right to him.

            Again he noticed the eerie melody of the music box. He could have sworn he had heard that music once before. He picked up the box and looked at it more closely.

            “What is the name of this song anyway?” he asked.  

            Surprised by the question, Ginny answered, “I have no idea. I never heard the song before I got the box,” she sighed. “I miss him so much Harry.”  

            “I know you do,” Harry said solemnly.

            They sat there quietly for a time. Ginny fell back again onto his shoulder and they watched the fire in a comfortable silence. Finally, they decided to retreat back upstairs to their separate dorms for the night.

            Ginny finally spoke after the long silence.

            “Harry, do you regret kissing me tonight?” she blurted out.  

            Harry, not surprised this time, answered thoughtfully, “No, not at all. But I do think that we have a few things to sort though now.”

            Ginny held his hand and squeezed. “Yeah, I suppose we do, don't we?” she grinned, leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, and started for her room.  

            “Ginny?” Harry called to her.  

            “Yes?” she stopped in front of her door.  

            “You're amazing,” Harry said simply.  

            She grinned again and went inside.  

            It was early that morning when Harry finally fell asleep. But he couldn't forget this night, as thoughts of Ginny occupied his mind. The strange and enchanted melody of her music box, her prophetic dreams, but most of all, the kiss they shared in the common room.