Fan Fiction ❯ Pirouette ❯ Pirouette ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, and whoever else makes money off it. Seeing as I don't. Blah.

 

Warnings: Het, slightly dark, talks of death, pints of angst, and somewhat morbid humor.

 

Pairings: Harry x Ginny, with slight Luna x Neville.

 

Ah, here I am with my first HP fic. I've just decided to write something other than my usual Anime works, and well, here it is. It might be slightly confusing though as it sort of switches between Harry to Ginny and vice versa, along with the constant switch between present and past.

 

The Winter Morning and the Spring Morning do not take place in Harry's Fifth year, as with the other ones. Also, since my HP books haven't arrived in the shipment yet (I know, the horror) I'm doing this from memory. If any of my information is wrong, please, please tell me and I'll be more than happy to fix it.

 

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Pirouette

x&x&x&x

 

Winter Morning

 

There was something about a Christmas spent at the Weasley's.

 

It was in the way that when he woke up in the morning that there was a sort of smell that roamed around the air. The burrow smelt like something fresh, like a hint of dry leaves in an oasis, like the sun beating down into the rain and forming a little something like a wonderful new rainbow. Something like mist hanging in a heat wave, where you wanted to bathe in its cold warmth and stay there forever.

 

He would like to stay there forever. Because the burrow smells like home.

 

It was in the way when she went downstairs to eat breakfast that she would hear the hustle and bustle and talk encased and wrapped around in the household. At the table, there would be nonstop chatter from left and right, about any subject whatsoever. It was not so much the amount of people that made the impact on the babble, but the vigor they possessed. Redheads moved together with their talking, all on the same wavelength, page, and subject.

 

All except one. Because she is too busy listening into her own world.

 

It was in the way he'd take a small hesitant bite out of his food, as if he were a baby and it was his very first time tasting something different. It was different though. Even when Ms. Weasley had managed to slightly burn the pancakes, fill the pumpkin juice to the brim with pulp, and turn the eggs black, there is still so much care and affection poured into the food that he was not used to it, no matter how many times he'd eaten their bread and water.

 

But he still continues to eat it. Because he knows he'll never find food like that anywhere else.

 

It was in the way she'd reach across the table to find the margarine and her knuckles would lightly brush up against feathery soft skin that didn't belong to any of her brothers. Her fingers would stop searching for the margarine, retreating back into the safe hold of her fist, where she'd curl her hand up to be reminded of skin softer than satin yet filled with bruises and scars hidden underneath. He doesn't seem to notice though, diligently eating her mother's food and she wondered if she had even touched him in the first place.

 

She'll soon go looking for the margarine again. Because she likes to take the risk if it means touching him.

 

It was in the way everyone would move to the other room so they could exchange their gifts and presents, laughter and joy resounding inside the walls. He'd just sit down and looks at his friends and companions, wondering if he's really meant to be here. He stops thinking for a second though, realizing that a redhead is looking at him. It is not his best friend with the dirt on his nose, nor is it the troublesome duo who remain inseparable, and he is sure it is not the dragon tamer or the one with the earring in his ear, and is most definitely not the Ministry Worshipper.

 

Her eyes continued switching from a milk brown to dark and he wondered how he knew this as he couldn't see from behind his head. He felt her moving from behind him and he picked up the nearest parcel, pretending to examine it so he doesn't have to look at her when she eventually came in front of him.

 

“Open your present Harry.” A smooth voice told him. He looked up slightly and saw her holding a small box, undecorated and plain with the promise of something bright and vivid inside.

 

He started.

 

:|:|:|:|:|:|:

 

Spring Morning

 

She has never liked trains.

 

She hates hearing the shrill whistles hurting her ears as the vehicles go off. She hates hearing the sound of wheels continuously rub against the metal of the railroad tracks and create yellow and orange sparks that looked like it would hurt her. She especially hated not being able to look out the window and appreciate the view, as trains always seem to move far too fast.

 

The Hogwarts Express was no different.

 

She took a look around her compartment. Her blonde haired friend was curled up in a corner across her, avidly reading the latest edition of her father's creation, not even glancing up. Her blonde strands were curling around her face, giving the impression of yellow wisps of air around her. Ginny wondered how, that even when it was painfully obvious Luna was completely absorbed in her reading, she still had that vacant look, as if she was staring out the window and daydreaming.

 

An oxymoron within itself.

 

Her brown eyes strayed over to corner opposite from them and stopped onto her other companion. The black haired boy had his head bent down slightly, with his hair covering his eyes and she wasn't sure if he was staring at the floor or looking right through it. She wondered what Neville was thinking right then, what he ever thought about. It amazed her at how, that even when he was a bumbling clumsy boy in classes, he could be so quiet and reserved during these moments.

 

An oxymoron within itself.

 

Ginny sighed softly, turning her attention back to the vast moving scenery outside the wall of glass. She could see her face reflected onto the glass, and she found herself scrutinizing her looks. Her pale ordinary skin color clashed with the abundant amount of freckles she had across her nose, the same color as her blank brown eyes. Running a hand through her Weasley red hair, she wondered if there was anything special about her. Whether there was anything just from her and was not inherited. Just her.

 

A plain old moron within her.

 

The redhead suddenly frowned, as the scenery became blurry once more as the train kept on moving.

 

She has never liked trains.

 

The sound of a sliding door makes her pause her thoughts and turn her attention to the person standing in front.

 

It was Harry.

 

The green eyed boy awkwardly shifted his body slightly and she could feel his nervousness rolling off him in smoky waves. “Is it okay if I stay here with you guys? Ron and Hermione have another Prefect meeting.” The boy said, glancing around the compartment, avoiding eye contact.

 

“Sure. Scoot over Neville so that Harry can sit by you.” Luna ordered, her eyes still fixated on the magazine. It was like she hadn't even moved her mouth at all, but the redhead could hear so clearly. It made her wonder about her friend.

 

The bespectacled boy dropped down into the seat beside Neville, not looking at him or them but staring out the window. She wondered if he was able to see the scenery even when it was moving so impossibly fast. She thinks he can though, as there are so many impossible things he can do.

 

He stopped looking out the looking glass for a second and she found green eyes staring at her for a second, before going straight back to their previous activity as if they hadn't been there at all.

 

Only moments after though, those eyes are looking back at her again and she finds that trains perhaps are not so bad after all.

 

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Summer Afternoon

 

He could still hear the whispers and the stares of the people the thought he once knew. They were everywhere, suffocating and choking him with their half hearted whispered words of poison, judging every step he walked, every word he said, and every breath he breathed. He wondered if they knew they were slowly hurting and killing him far better than his greatest enemy ever could.

 

He could feel her as well. Only, she never talked with or about him. He wouldn't have known she was near if for the fact that every time he glimpsed past his shoulder he could see a distinct vivid red color, redder than blood and tumbling down her shoulders in waves like the wildest ocean.

 

He'd see her at the oddest of times too. One moment he'd be walking alone with the company of only his shadow, the next he turn his eye sideways and see her walking beside him, looking straight past him as if he wasn't there at all and it might as well have been just her. She ignored the murmurs and speculative looks that passed down the corridor.

 

“I thought Hermione said you were over me.” He told her later, trying to strike up some form of a conversation with small talk.

 

She didn't seem to realize his intent however and just glanced up towards him with those fogged up brown eyes of hers.

 

“Hermione said that. I didn't.” She told him simply, her voice sounding firm and soft at the same time and he wondered how she was able to do it.

 

Stopping those thoughts, he picked up a slightly faster pace, not sure whether he was trying to leave her behind or make sure she followed.

 

A second later though, he heard another set of quick and nimble footsteps beside him and he knew exactly what he wanted.

 

“I don't need a shield.” He said, unsure just to whom he was talking to. She only looked up at him with a blank face and no words on her lips. Despite her frivolous and half hearted effort, he felt himself falter and destroy the smooth rhythm his feet had set. Without another word, he turned and walked into the other direction, unsurprised but comforted when he heard her footsteps again.

 

She would always follow. He was glad, because he needed her to.

 

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Summer Night

 

It was cold and they were in the Common Room, having a feeble fireside chat while watching the small colorful embers dance their way into the heat and shadows. For the first time in years, she felt like staying up all night.

 

She silently observed her late night companion, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting in a tall and broad armchair that made him look tiny and frail in significance and she hated the comparison. He was curled up into it, elbows touching knees and chin resting on top with the face gazing at the fire.

 

It's quite far from something like a comfortable position and she'd like to ask why he's sitting like that but she refrains from doing so because she knows it is not the question she wants an answer to.

 

“Do you miss him Harry?” She chooses to ask instead.

 

He looks up slightly back at her. “Miss who?” He questions, though she is more than sure he knows exactly who she's talking about.

 

She sighed softly, knowing he most likely didn't hear her. “Your godfather.” For some reason, she can't bring herself to say his name, knowing that the boy sitting with her by the fire probably wouldn't want to hear it.

 

She heard him respond in a scratchy and hoarse voice unlike him, like he was just done with crying a thousand tears worth a million tissue boxes. Suddenly struck by the notion that those eyes of his looked tired, she wasn't sure whether to continue stepping over the boundary line or go back into the safe valley of fake bliss.

 

“I'm okay with it.” Every passing day is torture.

 

The girl nodded, understanding exactly what he wanted but couldn't say.

 

“That's good to hear.” Soon, you really will be okay. I'll make sure of that.

 

“Yes Ginny. It is.” Thank you.

 

She wanted to get up and go to bed so she could get a good night's sleep after having a hidden conversation with the Boy Who Lived, but momentarily stopped when she saw a bright fire in those green eyes and knew they were most certainly not a reflection.

 

She started.

 

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Autumn Morning

 

“Butter pancakes are a must for any British witch.” Luna told her, handing a platter of the said food to Ginny. She had a distinct smile on her face that said she was sure of whatever nonsense was spewing out her mouth.

 

The redhead didn't think it was nonsense that was spewing out, but happiness and generosity instead. She took the platter from her friend's hands and hefted a generous portion of the buttered pancakes onto her own plate before handing it back.

 

The blonde however, only pushed it back, the smile still on her face.

 

“Give some to Neville.” The enigmatic girl said placidly, referring to their mutual friend sitting on the redhead's right.

 

The brown eyed girl nodded, a small smile peaking out at the corner of her mouth, before she passed the plate onto her boy companion, who accepted it with a modest blush and a big gulp of the food.

 

“Neville isn't a witch though.” She pointed out, not being able to resist teasing her friend. The boy responded with an even bigger blush and a raise of the eyebrows.

 

“True,” said Luna, looking distinctly past the redhead and onto their other friend. “But that just means it's even more of a must for him.” The blonde's smile seem to brighten up slightly as she and the black haired boy exchanged looks, making Ginny wonder just who was friends with who, and who was more.

 

Still, she couldn't help but agree with Luna as her brown eyes drifted over the house table and landed on a pair of bright green eyes that were staring straight back at her (with his own friends chattering into his unhearing ears).

 

Buttered pancakes were a must. Even for the not-so-untouchable heroes.

 

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Autumn Night

 

He had found another purpose in the mirror again. During the time he didn't spend with the bushy haired bookworm or the headstrong redhead friends of his, he would take out his godfather's gift out of his schoolbag and run his hands over the glass, observing his reflection and wondering if his father ever preened in front of it (not that he was doing such a thing. He just liked to look at his reflection on it. Really). The act brought forced memories, as he imagined his family's faces on there.

 

He was doing this now again, not particularly caring that it was almost 1:00 in the morning and it was strictly forbidden for students to be in the Common Room after 10:00, because he was just not ready to go up yet. He needed another hour to look at his mirror, to see himself in it, to see his parents in it, to see Sirius in it, to see his memories in it.

 

“I didn't realize you liked looking at yourself in mirrors so much.” An amused voice spoke, startling him while making him jump slightly before turning to face his companion.

 

“Ginny,” Harry whispered warily, “What are you doing up so late?”

“I think the question is,” The redhead started, plopping down to sit in a fuchsia chair across him. “What are you doing up so late?” He found those brown eyes staring at him again, he wondered if she put some sort of spell on them, as it certainly seemed to be full of magic.

 

“I was just looking at the mirror,” He began telling her, not sure exactly why. “My godfather gave it to me as a gift before he died. He used to use it with dad. It was a way to communicate with each other.” His throat suddenly felt parched and dry like talking about this was not something relaxing and that he needed to stop very badly.

 

He could still feel her brown eyes on him, not asking any questions, not demanding any answers, just looking into him. He felt those eyes boring holes into him, into his, trying to comfort him, trying to bring some right into his life gone wrong beyond belief.

 

Because if life really was a road, then Harry's was made of wrong turns and rocky lanes with absolutely no sidewalks to help him escape the hazardous traffic that he kept rushing into.

 

He realized this suddenly, late quiet, small sobs finally escaping him like the rusty and old wheels of a train grind against its tracks. And when those long overdue tears finally started, they filled his entire being, one falling after the other as if stopping was not in their vocabulary.

 

And, while this was happening, while he was happening, she was also somehow there beside him, wrapping pale arms around him and staying there, because she knew he was far from pushing her away this time.

 

He tipped his head to lie against her collarbone as the tears persisted, listening to his own shallow breathing. And he said the words he had and would never say to anyone else. Except her. Only her.

 

“Help me.” Save me. Guide me. I need you.

 

She responded almost immediately, whispering something almost inaudible to anyone else's ears, but to him it was the loudest thing in the world at that moment.

 

“I will.”

 

And his tears kept constant, trickling down his face, but with her presence, it felt something like a release rather than a hold.

 

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Autumn Morning

 

They were down on the Quidditch field alone with just themselves, and he found he didn't care. He was far too busy trying to drown himself in the grass stains, the red strands, and the wonderful scent of lilacs that lingered around her. For once, Harry Potter did not wish to be somewhere else than the place he was at.

 

She was lying down beside him, her head against the slope of his shoulder and his arm around her waist. The redhead was close to falling into a deep and slumberous sleep, plainly exhausted even though it was a bright morning and the sun was shining down on them for once. He however, remained wide awake, proud of the lingering serenity surrounding them. Because at one point in their muddling, a destination had been reached, a hope fulfilled.

 

It was something, for the first time, he was not sorry for.

 

Someday, he planned to take this girl beside him to Godric's Hallow, wordlessly show her the residence that she could make her own if she acknowledged it. If she'd be around long enough to accept it. He had no doubt she would. He can tell that she'd love to stroll through the corridors of his parent's home, run her fingers down the walls, and listen to the magic resounded inside the household, as she was always surrounded by it.

 

He knows someday, she'll grow into something like a beautiful woman, who would finally know better than to believe with hopeless devotion of marriage and laughing children, along with the fantasies of pure happiness that could last forever. She's starting to understand that it's not quite like that, that it will never be as easy to accomplish things like that without the help of time and effort.

 

But time could only make her stronger. Time could only make him stronger.

 

“You're still here,” The redhead murmured softly, about to go drifting into sleep but choosing to stop momentarily to stare at the green eyed boy, like he was an illusion, another half baked fantasy of hers. But she knows better this time. She knows he is real this time.

 

“I'm too tired to move right now.” I have no desire to be anywhere else.

 

She smiled, because it makes her happy that she is the only able to understand his real words and what they mean.

 

This time though, he smiled back, wrapping his arm around her waist even tighter but not crushing and burying his face into red fibers that looked like a bright fire which fueled a bright hope in him for him and the future. Their future.

 

It was during an autumn afternoon that he realized he loved her.

 

They started.

 

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The End

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Well, there you have it, my very first HP one-shot. Heck, my very HP anything. I think I did an okay job on it, seeing as I had to write the ending twice when I accidentally forgot to save it. Heh.

 

And before you say anything, no I do not have any idea what I was on when I wrote the buttered pancake section. That part just kind of had a mind of its own. Plus, I thought it brought some humor into the mostly angst-y one-shot.

 

I think I should've put more Ron and Hermione in this story, you know to accent their friendship with Harry. But, I guess I was concentrating on the Luna-Ginny-Neville part too much, as those three are my personal favorite trio.

 

Review!