Next Time

NEXT TIME

I really had forgotten my transfiguration homework in the Common Room, you know. It's not like I make a habit out of wandering around the castle alone at midnight, unlike some. I couldn't sleep, which wasn't unusual, so I decided to work on my essay. Trouble was, I didn't have it. Ginny, you dolt, I realized after frantically searching my bag by the light of my wand, you left it downstairs! Thoroughly annoyed, I wrenched the drapes hanging around my bed open and hurried out of the dorm room as quietly as I could, so as not to wake up the other girls. Twenty Galleons says that Colin Creevey has already found my essay and is busy copying off it. Once on the stairs I could abandon all pretenses of being quiet. I was clomping so heavily down the stairs that it's a miracle I didn't wake at least ten prefects.

The Common Room was bathed in a low, flickering light from the dying fire in the fireplace. It was spooky to see it so dark and empty; the Common Room was usually filled with laughter and warmth. My essay was sitting on a table near the fireplace, exactly where I'd left it. I breathed a sigh of relief and started to walk towards it. Thank goodness it's still here. This could have turned out very badly-

Next thing I knew I had tripped over something and was pitched forward onto my hands and knees. Ouch! I silently cursed as I examined my skinned palms. What stupid oaf left something in the middle of the floor for a klutz like me to trip on? What was it, anyway? I turned to look and when I saw, I wished I hadn't. I had tripped over a shoe. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, except that the shoe was on a foot, which was attached to a leg, which was attached to the person sitting in the armchair beside me. Good job Ginny. You've made a complete fool of yourself in front of another Gryffindor yet again.

"Oh, I'm really sorry," I whispered apologetically as I picked myself up off of the floor. "I didn't see you there. Are you hurt..."

There are no words fit to describe exactly how I felt at that moment in time. It was a strange mix of humiliation, delight and fear. I guess you could call it panic, since I wanted nothing more at that moment than to run away as fast as I could. But my legs were rooted to the spot. It was - intriguing - and a strong part of me didn't want to leave.

You see, the person that I'd tripped over was, amazingly, still sleeping. His head was tilted back against the top of the armchair and his hair, usually worn low over his eyes, had fallen to one side so the scar he worked so hard to conceal was plainly visible on his forehead, like a stain he could never wash off. The firelight cast dancing shadows on his face; they waltzed their way around his cheeks and closed eyes. He had taken off his tie and it was hanging around his neck. The top buttons of his collared shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up to his skinny elbows. A thick, yellowed, leather bound old book was lying open in his lap, his round glasses sitting on top of the ancient script. Maybe he'd taken them of to rest his eyes for a minute, not realizing how tired he actually was.

I'd never seen him look so peaceful. It was as if I was looking at a complete stranger. The Harry Potter I knew had become tense, irritable and withdrawn since Sirius's death. It was almost as if he was angry at the whole world, but had no way - or didn't believe he had a way - to let it all out. One thing that had suddenly become an issue was his scar. He went to extraordinary measures to hide it, and would snap at you if you asked him about it. I'd witnessed such an encounter between him and a first year Hufflepuff in the corridor yesterday. The naïve girl had pointed him out to her friend and said "That's him! Can't you see his scar?" Harry had frozen in his tracks and after he was finished yelling himself horse he'd looked up and seen me watching. I tried to say something - anything - but my tongue seemed to have been nailed to the roof of my mouth. He turned and walked away without a word. Another could've-been-good moment botched up by me.

Lately, though I've been trying my hardest not to think on it, I've been really worried about him. I guess I'm terrified that something horrible is going to happen, that he'll do something drastic. I think Ron and Hermione are too, they've been spending an awful lot of time talking under their breaths and sending shifty glances in all directions. I would talk to them about my worries, but I don't think they'd take me seriously. More than once, I've seen Harry sitting alone when he thinks no one's watching, staring off blankly into space for hours at a time. I don't know what to do, or if I can do anything.

Suddenly, Harry shifted in his sleep and that annoying voice called my conscience kicked in.

Ginny, get your essay and get out of here NOW! What will you do if he wakes up?

I took a tentative step towards the table on which my essay lay. But then a thought struck me, a strange and wonderful thought.

Would it really be so bad if he woke up?

It seems that my life is full of "next times". Next time I'll stand up to Fred and George when they tease me. Next time I'll say the right answers when Professor Snape calls on me. Next time I'll be able to buy those designer robes. Next time, Harry will notice me. Next time, he'll invite me to come and sit with him, Ron and Hermione. Next time, I'll be in on whatever dangerous scheme they're plotting. Next time, Harry will see me as more than just Ron's little sister. Then, next time would turn into the next time after that, and then the next time after that - a never-ending cycle of next times and what ifs. Whatever happened to this time?

Yes, it would be fine if Harry woke up, because maybe this time would be this time. Maybe this time I'd be able to say something intelligent, instead of my usual garbled-up, strangled "I-can't-speak-English-around-Harry" language. Maybe this time I'd be able to look him in the eyes and say something incredibly witty and make him chuckle as he rubs his bleary eyes and yawns. Or I'd go and grab that blanket draped over the couch mere steps away and cover him up, and then he'd open his eyes, smile and mumble his thanks before drifting off to sleep again. Or maybe he'd ask me to sit down and he'd share with me whatever puzzle is hidden inside the pages of that ancient book, and I'd be able to figure it out, and he'd look at me with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

This time, things would be different.

I was trying to decide exactly what I was going to say when I realized with a shock that Harry was no longer still. All the confidence that my previous thoughts had instilled in me vanished as I was confronted with a Harry Potter who was very much waking up.

He stretched, and the book fell off his lap and onto the floor with a loud thump. The noise made me jump and must have startled Harry too, because his eyes snapped open. I was suddenly faced with a daydream come true.

I couldn't think of a single intelligent or witty thing to say. My mind was completely blank, and I could feel myself starting to blush.

Say something, my inner voice screamed at me. Explain yourself! Go and give him that blanket like you planned. Just do something!

What I managed to do was mumble: "I left my essay on the table." Mind-numbingly creative, I know. Without looking at Harry, I walked the few steps to the table by the fire and picked up my essay which, thankfully, was all there. "I got it," I said cheerfully, and waved it in the air for Harry to see. He smiled, nodded, and then yawned. "I'll just...be going now..." I said. I had to walk across the Common Room to get to the spiral staircase, and it was one of the longest walks of my life. I don't know what Harry did after I left, I didn't dare look back. Maybe he watched me walk away. Maybe he picked up the book and started reading from where he left off before sleep took him. Maybe he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep once more. Or maybe...maybe he just sat there, staring into the fire, thinking about what had just happened, thinking about me and what in the world I had been doing in the Common Room this late at night. Then maybe he smiled, gathered up his things and headed off to his dorm room to get a proper night's sleep. I guess I'll never know.

As I mechanically climbed the stairs to get to my dorm room, a single thought kept bouncing around in my head.

Next time, Ginny, next time...