Title:  The Ginny Chronicles

Author: Casca Casccara@yahoo.com

Classification: Ginny POV, H/G, R/H implied

Summary:  Ginny and her conscience have a battle.

Spoilers: Eventually, yes

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: All characters and names used in these fics are the legal property and creative work of JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros.  We are not making any profit on these fics - just having fun. :) We will be forever grateful to Ms. Rowling for providing us with this veritable playground for our imaginations.

-The Ginny Chronicles-

I watch Harry across the common room.  He's laughing at Ron and Hermione, although Ron and Hermione are doing nothing to be funny- they're only having a conversation, but I can see why Harry finds it entertaining. The conversations that occur between those two love-birds usually end on some stupid fight in which one of them winds up storming out of the room, causing the other to either tut furiously (Hermione) or mouth off soundlessly (Ron).  Personally I think they're pathetic, but I choose not to voice this in fear of hurting Hermione's feelings. 

Besides, I can only dream of being so pathetic with the boy I love.

You are pathetic, that stupid voice in the back of my mind tells me. I hate this voice. What do you think it means to sit in a corner watching the same boy for six years, dreaming of the day when he FINALLY looks at you?  Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!

Oh, shut up! I tell the voice, but I secretly fear this annoying voice knows everything.  Harry'll come around, he has to.  And if he doesn't- 

**And if he doesn't? Hmmm? Then what?  You've wasted your childhood away, Virginia Weasley, do you plan on wasting your adult-life, as well?

I furrow my brow and ignore the voice- I really and truly don't want to think about the fact that I'm in my sixth year at Hogwarts and I have spent the whole of my school career pining for Harry Potter.  I do not want to think about the fact that I've virtually given up every chance presented to me to spend time with other boys in the fear that Harry would think I am over him.  See, the twisted part about me, and I admit it, is that while I live with the fact that Harry doesn't know I'm alive most of the time—it must be very clear to him that I am in love with him.  Therefore, when he does come around- he won't hesitate to tell me his feelings… right?

Before the incredibly mean voice can answer me, I nod my head firmly and open my notebook to begin my Divination homework, which makes absolutely no sense, I might add. 

Across the room, Harry lets out a sharp bark of laughter and I, along with several other people, turn to see what the commotion is.  The game of Exploding Snap has blasted in Ron's face and he's covered with black ash.  Harry laughs along with Seamus and Neville as Ron, grinning, shakes off the ash and returns to the card game.  Harry deals the next hand, his head bent, his eyes still laughing.

I sigh and study his shock of black hair and piercing green of his eyes. The color of his eyes amazes me so.  It is bright, bottle green, no hint of blue, no hint of brown, pure green.  I chew the end of my quill, willing him to look over at me.

And, as always, my internal battles go unnoticed by him.

**Pathetic!  You should go over there and join the card game, give him a reason to look at you. Why are you so unlike yourself around him?  The real Ginny Weasley would have made herself noticeable, not sit in a corner waiting!

No!  I don't want to aid him in his realization that he loves me. I want him to look of his own desire and watch me the way I watch him…

**Ew! And I thought you were only a pathetic sixteen- year-old girl!  You're also a DENSE sixteen-year-old girl!  Do you really think he'll notice you if you do nothing?  Go and tell him how you feel!  Go and make a statement!  Ask him to that Ball that's coming up, ask him to spend time in Hogsmeade! This isn't the old days, get up and get things started!

But I can't!  If it were any other boy, sure, I could be more noticeable… But this is Harry! I don't want to force Harry into anything.  He has enough to worry about and being so forward may make him uncomfortable.

**That's just as pathetic as you sitting here watching him! Treat him with kid gloves and he won't think of you any differently than he does the whole lot of people who stare at his scar and mumble about him.


**No "buts." Go over there and do it!

I can't!




Because I'm scared he'll say no! Because I'm scared he still won't look at me!  I'm so scared he'll just look right past me like he does now.  Pathetic, I know, but I would rather sit here watching him and hoping for him than being hurt by him.

Well that certainly shut the voice up.  And because I feel tears in the back of my eyes, I start to gather my things to go upstairs.  The tears shame me—I've never shed them for Harry, never once.  When the temptations have gotten the better of me and all I ever want to do is crawl under my covers and have a good cry over the boy's stupidity, I force myself not to.  I've developed a rather incredible strength in the process, and I'm actually quite glad for it.  It's the only thing Harry has ever given me: a firm sense of willpower.

I pile my books into my bag, swing it over my shoulder and walk to the staircase leading to the girl's dormitories.  And because I'm weak when it comes to him, I look over once again.  The card game continues… Ron and Hermione are arguing again… and Harry's grin is a mile wide. 

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.  I'm about to burst into tears and he's over there grinning, completely oblivious to me.  I've been hurt by him before and I've been disappointed, oh yes, more disappointed than I care to admit to myself.  And he's made me angry at times, that I will admit.  However, never have I felt such wrath, such an enraged sense of resentment that I do at this very moment. The intensity of it is squeezing its way into my heart—I feel like marching up to him and slapping the grin off his face. Or kissing it off his face, whichever would have the bigger effect.

I do neither. 

But I am marching up to him, walking with purposeful strides and people's head are staring to turn in my direction.  I stop just in front of him— he glances up at me from the hand of cards he's holding and when he views my face, an uneasy look comes into his eyes.  It gives me the strength I need.

"Harry Potter, you are so STUPID!" I bellow.  I watch his mouth drop open, giving me even more strength and to my complete horror and utter delight, I continue.  "Do you even know how long I've sat in that corner watching you?  Do you?  Well, I'll tell you! All night, every night, for six years. At school, at home, all over the place!  And do you know what I've done it for? Nothing!  Because you are still the same dense prat who never even LOOKS AT ME!"  I am shrieking now and Harry has gone pale.  His face looks, quite frankly, terrified. 

I realize that I've said what I need to say and before the reality of what I've just done can begin to sink in, I snap my chin up, look down at him and speak in a clear, dignified voice.  "I'm sorry for disrupting your card game, but I just needed to say that. Good night."

And with that I turn on my heel and march back the way I came, passed Ron's horrified look, Hermione's astonished grin, and the round eyes and open mouths of every singe occupant of the common room.  It's pretty easy, I discover, to ignore them all when I'm about to pass out from shock.  As I approach the staircase, I hear a loud noise and I jump.  Then I realize someone is clapping.  I pause in front of the staircase, my back to everyone and bite my lip hard on a grin. The entire room has burst into laughter and scattered applause and I can hear a voice call out, "Potter, you stupid prat!"

I have to stand there for a minute, because I feel my knees go week.  But then I find the strength, not from anything Harry does, but within myself, to lift my head again and walk up to the dormitory, happy now that I'm the one grinning and he's the one left thinking.

To Be Continued…

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More fice by Casca at:

The  Hidden Tower