Inside A Curtain Of Blue

Inside A Curtain Of Blue

When she opened her eyes that morning, she saw clouds of blue. With a smile, she sat up and pulled back the filmy bed-curtains surrounding her bed with one hand. Her eyes swept briefly across the cluttered room then, as her smile faded, she let the drapes fall back in place, creating, once again, a cocoon around her bed.

She didn't want to get up. She knew what was waiting for her as soon as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slid on her slippers, and padded downstairs. She knew and she wasn't looking forward to it.

First, of course, she would notice the chill in the air. A brief glance out her window would assure her that, indeed, there was snow on the ground. A layer of glistening white blanketed not only the ground, but also the entire landscape. It was a beautiful testament to the wintry season.

After wiggling into her fuzzy blue slippers, she would leave the room, still clad in her blue-and-white patterned nightgown. (She'd always been rather fond of the color blue.) By the time she reached the top of the staircase, the bustle and cheer of the lower level would drift up to her. She would be able to hear the laughter, the light-hearted chatter, and the good-natured admonishments not to steal cookies. Excited whispers and impatient complaints would all reach her ears in a welcoming hubbub of homey voices.

Enchanted with the coziness, she would start down the steps, her hand on the banister. Her fingers would brush against something and, looking down, she would notice the garland wrapped lovingly around the rail. It would pull her eyes across a multitude of festive green holly, red ribbons, candles, mistletoe, and stockings. Finally, her gaze would come to a rest on the towering fir in the corner of the living room, crammed full of decorations--silver and gold, bought and handmade, strings of twinkling lights and cranberries, and topped with a glowing angel.

A smile would cross her face as the holiday spirit warmed her heart. She would eagerly descend the last few steps and gaily greet her siblings. She would laugh and tease and be teased in return. Snatching a candy cane from the tree, she'd round the corner in high spirits and--bam. She'd stop.

There he was.

He would be sitting at the kitchen table, eating a hearty breakfast. Fork in one hand, glass of orange juice in another, he'd take a gulp and make a response to whatever had just been said.

Her eyes followed his laughing green ones across the table. She was there. Hermione. Beautiful, ambitious, hard-working, impossibly brilliant Hermione. Not only kind and compassionate and self-sacrificing, but also his best friend.

Lucky girl.

She would exhale and all her former festivity would escape and disappear with the sigh. How could she be happy when only the day before, she'd made a humongous fool of herself and had had all her (admittedly naïve) dreams shattered to boot?

He would look up.

Their gazes would collide.

He would fall silent and stare uncomfortably at her. Hermione, of course, would turn to look as well. She wouldn't be able to read the look in Hermione's eyes,but she would know all too well what emotions his held--discomfort, embarrassment, and pity. After all, he had held the same look yesterday when she'd confessed her feelings to him after a dessert of pumpkin pie.

They'd been isolated in their own little corner by the tree and with the courage and optimism brought on by mildly spiked eggnog, she'd poured out her heart to him. In response to her earnest declarations, he'd turned red, shifted uncomfortably, mumbled something about getting over schoolgirl crushes, and knocked over his mug of hot chocolate.

Though the spill had been cleaned easily enough, his actions had drawn the attention of her older brothers, who had then proceeded to tease him about his clumsiness until he had been forced to take refuge upstairs. She hadn't seen him for the rest of the evening until just before bed, when he'd cornered her in the hall between her room and the shared bathroom. She had been alone and dressed in her nightgown since, as the youngest in the family, her mother had compelled her to prepare for bed first. He had stuttered something about being sorry and not hurting her feelings and don't take things the wrong way, but the phrase that caught her attention was, "don't feel the same way." He'd been slightly embarrassed as he'd said it, but it paled in comparison to her mortification. Her horror only increased when, during an awkward pause, he blurted out, "I love Hermione."

Eyes wide, face flushed, she'd only managed to sputter, "Oh," before fleeing to her room. In the safety of her bed, she'd released the humiliated tears she'd been suppressing, sobbing semi-silently into her pillow. While she cried over both the blow to her heart and her pride, she tried to formulate coherent thought in her mind.

Why? Why did he love Hermione? Why not me?

And after hours of fierce contemplation in the dark, she finally understood. She saw why he loved Hermione. Her heart clenched at the thought. Here was a girl who was constantly by his side, constantly supporting him, advising him, helping him... She was already somebody he admired and respected--after all, she was his best friend--and after all the time they'd spent together, after all they'd been through, both good and bad, he'd began falling in love with her. The girl on his side.

Not the one loving from a distance.

She'd dreamed bittersweet dreams that night, knowing they'd never come true but wishing they would. So she'd hidden from reality in the depths of her blue-swathed bed in the wee hours of the morning, comforting herself with the vividness of her imagination.

But then she'd woken up.

Outside, it was Christmas. Outside, he was downstairs with her family, enjoying the holiday season. Outside, Harry loved Hermione.

She'd always considered Hermione a friend before. A fairly close one, even. But she'd never forgive Hermione for being the girl Harry had chosen to fall in love with.

So while, outside, the world beckoned with its cruel realities and Harry continued to love Hermione, Ginny chose to lie in her warm bed, comforted only by the endless possibilities of a wishing, wanting, broken heart.

--