Dreamscape

Dreamscapes: The Morning After the Yule Ball

By JennyfromtheBurrow

Ginny stared at the carved spirals flowing along her bedpost until she felt dizzy. She had memorized every slope of the wood, every imperfection in the grain. A knot in her stomach only exacerbated the fluctuating burning and chill pulsing in her face. There was no denying the source of her turmoil. She liked Harry so much she couldn't think of anything else. If she could just banish him from her mind for ten minutes, perhaps she could sleep. That was proving to be an exercise in futility tonight.

And Harry didn't seem to notice her at all. She was conflicted with feelings of mirth and guilt upon hearing about his disastrous date. But he had asked Parvati at least. Did Parvati realize that Harry had been in a panic to find a dance partner? Parvati just happened to be in the common room. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! Then again, Ron had inadvertently placed Ginny in the right place, just at the wrong time. "Ginny, you can go with Harry..." She had quickly blurted out that she was going with Neville to spare Harry (and herself) from some awkward excuse. Harry had just sat silently. His painfully polite silence denied her any remote reason to like him less.

To add insult to injury, she wasn't even Neville's first choice. Ginny had agreed to go because Neville was her friend and she did not want him to miss his Yule Ball; that and some vague fantasy that circumstances would leave her and Harry to the seclusion of the rose garden. Instead, Ron ended up in the rose garden with Harry. Honestly! Harry had no doubt seen her with Neville. He probably thought it was funny; if he even thought about it at all.

Ginny sat upright, allowing the sensation of fever and chills to radiate through her entire body like a virus. She had to move; she was going mad sitting still. She looked out the window. The night sky began to yield to morning. Only the brightest stars were visible, mingled with the azure clouds hinting at daybreak. The wind swayed the Forbidden Forrest elegantly in the distance. Frost remained on the window from the night cold and the owls softly hooted in the owlery. And Ginny just felt sick. She was wasting the beauty of a winter morning. Lately, she felt like she was wasting her life to this fruitless distraction. Why did the idea of Harry Potter consume her? If ever a crush had gone terribly awry. So far, she had managed to humiliate herself in front of the whole school with a singing dwarf, and oh yes, nearly kill Harry and herself by allowing her angst and gullibility to become a vehicle for the Dark Lord.

Ginny quietly glided past the other sleeping fourth year Gryffindor girls. She descended the steps to the common room. The sun was beginning to rise. Soft golden rays blurred in the reflection of the lake and illuminated two students who walked along the bank. Ginny rested her chin in her hands at the stone window sill. From the way their bodies swayed, she could tell they were laughing. "I can't imagine any boy would ever be so eager to see me he would get up at dawn to look at a lake with me," Ginny thought ruefully.

Directly above her was the room Ron and Harry shared with the other fifth year boys. She imagined a boy with green eyes and messy black hair looking out the window above her, watching Cho and Cedric. "Please don't let him see this. Don't let him see how pretty she looks right now," she silently pleaded. Cho's long hair curled on the ends in the wind, Cedric had placed her arm around her waist. What did Harry see in Cho anyway? What didn't Cho see in Harry? Ginny had had much difficulty sorting that out. Being angry with Cho for rejecting Harry, while simultaneously harboring a guilty sense of gratitude, was tricky business.

She sat on the oversized couch in front of the fireplace. The flush returned to her face, the knot tightened in her stomach. She began to cry. At least she could cry freely in the privacy of the common room and not worry about her roommates thinking she was stranger than they no doubt already did.

She felt her eyelids grow heavy and rested her head against the arm of the couch. Eventually her breathing became rhythmic. Perhaps fitful, but at least sleep had not eluded her completely.

******************

Harry had managed to keep his promise to himself that he would wake up early to practice spells for the third task. Without Ron and Hermione around, he wouldn't have an excuse to procrastinate. Not that Hermione would let him procrastinate. He was rather enjoying learning all of the new spells. But each time he watched his friends relax in conversation and games of exploding snap, he looked forward to life returning to normal. As normal as possible considering that he was Harry Potter.

As he entered the common room, he saw a familiar figure on the couch. Her red hair fell softly around her face. Her pallid pink face looked like she had been crying. He wondered if she really had been. Had her date with Neville been that awful? Curled up on the couch, Ginny looked small and vulnerable. He recalled the moment he had first seen her on the stone floor in the Chamber of Secrets. "Ginny, please don't be dead," he had begged her. He recalled how Tom Riddle towered over her. He had been prepared to throw his body over hers; he had been prepared to die. If Tom Riddle was to take a life, he would rather it be his. He had nearly been sick with relief when she woke up; he could not fathom watching someone die. And Ginny had confided to Harry about the diary. She cried when she saw the dead basilisk. She cried as he led her soundlessly back to where Ron and Lockheart were waiting. She cried as they left the chamber, the girl's toilet, even as they reached the safety of Dumbledore's office. Now Harry silently scolded himself. He should have been more comforting. He had taken her arm briefly to steady her over the debris, but hadn't touched her at all once they left the chamber.

The wind escalated outside and Harry watched snowflakes begin to swirl, settling into small drifts on the window. Ginny stirred in her sleep and wrapped her arms around herself. The embers of the fire were dying, creating pulsing gold threads along the blackened logs. Harry pulled a blanket off one of the large velvet chairs beside the fireplace. He gently placed it over Ginny. Was it his imagination? Her brow had been furrowed and now a sense of calm has crossed her face.

************

Somewhere deep in Ginny's subconscious, a fitful sleep had resolved into a defeated, colorless slumber. Then suddenly, the glacial cold began to retreat. She imagined a single, warm ray of sunshine blanketing her body. She dreamed a hand had touched her head, just once, and gently stroked her hair. She sighed.