cinder.

ginny was born with athleticism in her blood and two left feet.

rather, that was what she told herself since neville, kind and quiet neville, asked her to accompany him to the yule ball. she was one of the few of her year who were able to attend, and her dormmates were quick to throw their energy into fussing over her. her hair coiled into a high, tight bun, stuck out from the back of her head and pulled on her scalp. the dress, made by her mother’s loving hands, had more frills and pleats than her aunt muriel at christmas lunch. 

to top it all off, she was too proud to admit she didn’t know how to waltz. a pureblood who didn’t know how to waltz. on any other day, she’d have taken that title and worn it proudly on her sleeve. she didn’t want to be like the rest of them, born with silver spoons in their mouths and parent issues. but standing in front of neville, the quick three-beat measure in full symphony, part of her hungered for that taste of silver and the air of elegance that came with it. but neville still smiled at her, even when she bumbled her excuses not to dance, until the confession came tumbling out too. he even smiled at her then, took her hand, and placed it on his shoulder. he put his hand on her waist, took her hand in his, and gently guided her around the floor. his smile was warm, and comforting, and drew her gaze like a out-of-time moth to a flame. it was a bit clumsy, toes were crushed, but she laughed, and asked if he was trying to fix one of her left feet. she was almost sad to hear the waltz draw to a close.

that was, until the weird sisters stormed the stage. she pulled her hair down, and it flowed freely over her shoulders. her hand reached for neville’s, and she dragged them into the middle of the sea of students. they danced and sung until filch cleared the handful of remaining students from the hall, arm in arm, her ears still ringing from the music and her cheeks still aching from smiling.

it is a far cry from this evening, as professor mcgonagall announces the waltz proudly. (ginny barely kept her protest from leaving her mouth at word of the designated pairings. a very loud expletive silenced only by a sharp look from pansy, and a nudge of her shoulder from blaise.) neville is taller. ginny has no frills. and yet, she still holds all the same giddy trepidation she did the last time they danced together. she can’t meet his eyes, her gaze brushes over the other pairs of apprentices, all suitably matched. the guests gather too, and their attention is no easier to swallow. it’s as if she’s thirteen again and doesn’t know how to waltz.

this moment has rattled in her mind all evening, drawing all of her attention from the moment of its announcement. a small part of her tells her to run. another part whispers tell him to run. three years of separation and healing still had not been enough— she only realised when she snapped at him for asking about her plans for her project. he pretends like nothing has happened, like she hasn’t ignored every owl he sent her. he takes the high road, and she can’t stop the bitter remark before it leaves her mouth. she has avoided him, like identical magnets, ever since.

but they are forced together, and she approaches him as the orchestra is called to attention. she places her hand on his shoulder, barely touching the sleeve of his golden robes— as if the touch alone scorched open wounds. he’s dressed in gold, as he should be, as he deserves— she holds her tongue and bites her cheek. her other hand is barely open, held in the air in a stiff frame, elbow locked, waiting to be met halfway. she clears her throat, the silence too heavy for her to hold.

“let’s get this over with? and watch out for my toes this time.”

⤕ ginny & pansy.